The War and Titty Walker
by constantlearner
Summary: From Summer 1938 to May 1940. (Mostly takes place between the outbreak of war and Dunkirk.) Contains a mixture of Arthur Ransome's characters and my own, with a few walk-ons from the works of Dorothy L. Sayers. T rating is for a mixture of off-stage war-related death, some reference to "adult themes", minor violence and peril and a very small amount of minor bad language.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter one -Waiting**

**June 1938 – aboard the Sea- Bear, somewhere in the Baltic Sea.**

"A nurse, like Susan?" Dorothea asked.

Titty shook her head vigorously. "I'm not like Susan at all, really. It's almost like Roger not wanting the Navy. He's not just being rebellious for the sake of it. He can see that John and Daddy do fit in and knows he's different and wouldn't fit really, not in the same way."

"You're good at knowing how other people are feeling, and you aren't squeamish – less than most people anyway."

"Too good, apparently. We all got interviewed by the Headmistress about careers, in the autumn, one by one. Terrifying, but actually quite useful. I thought I was pretty much invisible to her – not frantically academic but not badly behaved. She thought I might make quite a good nurse to begin with and in ordinary times but it would "wear me down because I was too sensitive". I told my parents I would make my mind up by the time we get home, but I've pretty much decided that I will do that Art course. It's only one year. I don't think I'll be good enough to actually make a living by selling pictures, but my art-mistress thinks I might be good enough for book illustration or something like that. What about you? After university I mean. Writing novels?"

"Or stories for magazines or whatever will sell."

**The Lake: August 1938**

Surely at some time he would find sometime alone with Titty. He hadn't said anything to Dorothea, but she had seemed keen to go off to Swallowdale for the day with Roger and so determined to get Bridget to accompany them that he had wondered if she had realised how he felt about Titty. Dick had comforted himself with the thought that if that was the case, Dorothea would surely co-operate in giving him some time alone with Titty. He wasn't entirely sure that Roger, good friend though he was, would approve of him as his sister's boyfriend. Dorothea would give the matter her whole-hearted approval, Dick thought. As the week wore on, he began to have second thoughts about Dorothea's attitude. He never seemed to get a moment alone with Titty. It was getting almost ridiculous. Roger seemed almost to be following him about. If Roger wasn't at his elbow, Dot was talking to Titty. They had always been close friends of course. Had they always spent so much time together?

The days followed each other swiftly, as they always did when they were camping. A telegram came from the Walker's mother in Australia. Nancy and John sailed _Amazon_ to Wildcat Island early the next morning to tell Dorothea and Dick of their engagement. Dick was only surprised by how unsurprised he felt. Dorothea didn't say "I told you so". However much he was annoyed by her perpetual _presence_ Dick had to give his sister credit to for that.

In another few days, John rejoined his ship, seen off at the station by Nancy and Nancy alone.

The day before, Dick had not been able to help overhearing a short but vehement conversation between Titty and Bridget. Why wouldn't people realise canvas didn't stop sound?

"It isn't fair. We've hardly seen John."

"We've seen him a bit of nearly everyday."

**Extracts from letters**

**Bridget Walker to Elspeth, September 1938**

We've been back at school for nearly a week. Mother is coming back on Friday and we are going to Southampton to meet her. It seems odd that Titty was in the sixth form only a few months ago and now she's writing an excuse note to the school. I wondered if the headmistress would take any notice, but she did. I was summoned to her study and told I could go. She said she was glad mother was back now, so even the headmistress must think there might be a war.

Titty started art school on Monday. It's two buses to get there, but she seems to like it well enough. She mostly seems to be still drawing things in pencil and charcoal though. I thought it would be stuff we don't use in school, like oil-paints. It seems strange to see her going off in ordinary clothes not uniform. She says she doesn't let people in her class call her Titty though – just tells them her name is Tertia. I thought Roger would laugh himself silly about that, like he did about her putting her hair up (not that it's really long enough) and wearing lipstick and that dress she made for herself, but he didn't for some reason.

**Titty Walker to Dorothea Callum, October 1938**

I'm beginning to make friends – so things don't seem as bad. At least, I would say I've made one friend (as in been round to her house and she's been round to mine) and I am friendly with a few other people. Of course Bridget managed to call me Titty right in front of her. Iris hasn't told anyone else – I would certainly have heard about it within a day or to if she had. She did suggest making "Tia" out of Tertia, which I thought was quite a good idea. So Iris started using it and a week later everyone else in the class is too. Iris is one of the people that people want to be like and be liked by. Not as much as Nancy, and she's not really like her, but the same sort of thing.

**Dorothea Callum to Titty Walker**, **October 1938**

Oxford seemed unreal when we were on Sea Bear this summer. Now the summer seems unreal. I'm glad you are enjoying art school. Tia sounds a good shortening, and it is after all really your own name or part of it. I know what you mean about people that people want to be like. You have always been one of those people for me. You have no idea how much I wanted to be with you that day you were signalling from Wild Cat Island to the rowing boat. I was so nervous that I couldn't actually speak when you all came up the hill towards us after all that signalling to Mars. I had told Dick that I would do the speaking. I think he probably felt about the same really only he shows it differently. You can see it in the way he watches John and Susan and Nancy and Peggy when they do things, to see how they do them.

**Cambridge, October 1938**

Of course there was a perfectly reasonable solution. He could simply write to her. One thing he was certain of – she wouldn't laugh. He was fairly sure she wouldn't tell anyone else. She always did seem to tell her mother everything though, eventually. Mrs Walker didn't seem as though she would laugh, but she might be annoyed. If he upset Titty, and that was not all that unlikely, Mrs Walker would have every reason to be annoyed.

He could picture Titty sitting and the breakfast table in Portsmouth, opening his letter. John and Dick had a regular, if concise, correspondence. Roger's letters were more irregular and amusing. Dick's handwriting on the envelope would be recognisable. Of course someone would ask what news he had; why he was writing to Titty when he had never done so before. Would she in all innocence start to read it aloud before she had read it through herself? There was no reason why not. Dick could picture the embarrassment creeping up on her as she realised what the letter was saying.

And why, after all, had should he think that she might want to be his girlfriend. She had cried on his shoulder. She had after all every excuse. She would have done so just as comfortably, perhaps more so, if he had been John or Susan or Peggy or….

Dick found he was pacing about his room and sat down again. He had to do something. He began to write a perfectly ordinary "how are you?" letter. It would be a short one, without much news to tell. Still she might write back, which would be something.

**Portsmouth, October 1938**

"What does he say?" Roger asked, toast and marmalade poised in front of his mouth.

"Not a great deal of news. Hopes we are all well. New term has started well. Quite interesting lab work. Wonders how we all are. Have we heard from the Macs? Any news from Beckfoot? Ordinary sort of letter." Titty thought her voice sounded quite calm. "See if you like."

She handed over the letter.

"I thought Roger was usually the one who wrote to Dick." said Bridget.

"Not usually more than once or twice a term." said Roger, swallowing his toast and marmalade hastily and not properly chewed, but getting away with it, just.

"And when did you last write?" Mother asked.

Roger's grin seemed a little forced. "April."

"And when did he last write?"

"About a month ago. I'll do something about it this weekend."

When Titty had reclaimed her letter, stuffed it in her coat pocket and set off for Art School she tried to give herself some sensible advice. What had she been expecting, really? Of course he had put his arm around her as she cried. What of it? Anyone would. And yes, he had called her sweetheart. That wasn't the sort of endearment that necessarily meant romantic feelings. She had heard Professor Callum address Mrs Callum that way, the summer they had been learning to sail. Well, perhaps that didn't prove the point; she had heard Mrs Callum call Dorothea sweetheart, which did.

Titty gave such a gusty sigh that she collected some strange looks from other passengers on the 'bus. She would just have to think about him as little as possible and get on with everything else. Caring about him wasn't going to make him care about her in the same way.

_Dear Dick,_

_Thank you very much for the letter. Yes, I'm enjoying the course, although as you say, summer seems a long time ago. Most of the work I'm doing is still in pencil, charcoal etc., but I am learning a lot._

_Mother had a good, although sad journey back. She says she made some friends on the boat and that helped a great deal. Bridget writes to Elspeth and it seems that the "Macs" are all well. Roger is working harder at school than he has done before. Maybe he has changed his mind (again) and decided that university is for him after all._

_I hope you are continuing to enjoy the second year._

_Best wishes,_

_Titty_

She used to have no trouble with writing letters. She still had no trouble with most letters. Asking herself why this letter was so difficult was pointless; she knew exactly why. It would have to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Titty chapter 2 …. And wondering**

**More extracts from letters**

**18****th**** December 1938: Titty Walker to Dorothea Callum**

Yes, the Christmas party went very well. The Principal let us clear out and decorate the biggest studio. Of course everyone said they would help with that, and in the end it was mainly the three of us doing it. The other two were so busy watching each other without seeming to that they didn't get very much done. We ended up with a lot of mistletoe somehow – I don't imagine there can be much left in Portsmouth! I took Roger with me in the end – under strict instructions not to make comments about _anyone_'_s_ clothes, hair or make-up or say anything at all about art. I think he managed to do all three within about the first ten minutes and to kiss about half my year group under the mistletoe during the course of the evening. Bridget, of course, had got his goat before we started by saying if he was going to a grown-up party while he was still at school, she should be allowed to go too. I got the giggles about it eventually I'm afraid. I thought probably we should stay to tidy up a bit at the end, but Roger got quite insistent that we should go home before Mother got too worried. Then he decided that we might have missed the second bus and should walk anyway. Of course it came swishing past us when we were between two stops, but we had quite a good time walking along sucking peppermints.

**19****th**** December: Roger Walker to Dick Callum**

…..I went to Titty's Art School Christmas party. I was rather expecting loads of girls and a few token brothers dragged along under duress, but it was about a half and half mix. Titty seems very popular and introduced me around. I danced as much as I wanted to and she danced as much as she wanted to, so it was a success as far as that went. Everyone kept saying how well she had done with the decorations. (A couple of friends had helped her apparently, but I gather from what was said that it was pretty much all Titty's ideas.) Sort of the exotic east with lots of added mistletoe. She'd done a lot better than the group who had done the buffet, which was a bit sparse, I thought.

I'll post this on my way to fetch Bridget from her friend's Christmas party. No requirement for extra-strong peppermints there. (Not yet anyway.) I don't think Titty really intended to drink that much; it was just too many fellows fetching her drinks to start talking to her. The more sartorially peculiar they are, the more difficult they seemed to find it to talk about ordinary things. I must say Titty was very patient with them. (Worse luck).

**London 23****rd**** December 1938**

"And Dick?"

He obediently peered back down over the bannisters into the narrow tiled hallway. His view of his mother's head was somewhat obscured by the holly Dorothea had put up.

"Yes?"

"Try to talk more about, well normal things. People don't understand."

Mother was just trying to be helpful; she just wanted him to be happy. It wasn't unreasonable. It was totally unreasonable. After all, his parents had been married for – Dick did a quick calculation - Dot was twenty, add on two years and a bit – no that was alright, they hadn't missed their parents' silver wedding anniversary. He wasn't quite sure what you should do for your parents' silver wedding anniversary – apart from obviously give them something made of silver (necessarily small). Dot might know.

Anyway, after twenty-three years married to Father, Mother was being quite unreasonable. Father mostly talked about archaeology. Of course, as most of the people who Mother entertained were archaeologists, it probably _was_ normal to them. Bird- watching was a fairly normal hobby, and even if people didn't make a hobby of it they saw birds around. It was the same with stars. Geology, he would have to admit, wasn't everyone's cup of tea. Sailing though was surely quite a reasonable sort of thing to talk about. His tiresome little cousin was allowed to rattle on about her pony and hunting as much as she liked.

Mostly, Dick had a set routine for coping with these occasions. Ask if they'd been on holiday. Ask if they'd read anything they liked recently. Ask if they'd been to the theatre. Ask where their most recent dig had been. (He'd been letting his mind wander and asked the Professor of Chemistry that last New Year. Luckily, he hadn't minded, no-one else had overheard and they'd had quite a pleasant chat about skiing, on which the professor was keen, and the ice-sledge Dick and Mr Dixon had made.)

He had to be honest with himself. It wasn't Mother's comment that upset him; it was the possibility he was just another conversationally inept young man with whom Titty was patient. He grabbed Roger's letter from the chest of drawers and shredded it before dropping it into the waste paper basket. Dancing. Very popular. Lots of mistletoe.

"You haven't slightest chance with her." Dick said out loud to himself.

**14****th**** February**

The postmark said Middlesborough. Titty knew no-one in Middlesborough. She wondered if it was some elaborate joke by Roger. When she read the poem, she realised it could not possibly be anything to do with Roger. He would not use a poem like that as a joke. All the letters had been cut out of a newspaper individually and stuck down very neatly. Titty spent the rest of the day watching her fellow students with speculative eyes. No-one showed the slightest self- consciousness or looked at her with any more than the usual interest. Iris and Leslie, on the other hand, watched each other almost obsessively.

**Portsmouth: February 1939**

"He won't have any time for us. You'll see. With Nancy here he'll spend all his time with her and we won't see anything of him. It's completely unfair."

"It's always been Nancy first, really, ever since we met them." Roger scowled as ferociously as his younger sister.

"Not always. John stuck to the mapping when we met the Eels, for instance. And I'm sure it won't be that bad. Suppose it was someone we didn't even know, someone who didn't even like sailing for example." Titty (she had given up on trying to get her family to call her anything else) was trying to be reasonable, but Roger and Bridget just seemed determined to grouse. "You're complaining about something that hasn't even happened yet."

"Green fingernails and soppiness, that's all you're learning at that place." was Roger's parting shot as he stalked out of Titty's bedroom.

"You didn't seem to mind green fingernails on Audrey Brown at the Christmas party." Titty called after him.

"Who's Audrey Brown?" Bridget asked. This might be enough for retaliation against any teasing for months to come.

"Off you go, I need to work." Titty told her little sister. Roger and Bridget managed to be unbelievably irritating on a daily basis. She hoped they would grow out of it soon.

**Letter from Roger Walker to Dick Callum 27th Feb 1939**

… still can't make up my mind. Maybe my Highers will make them up for me. Not that I'm getting as much work done at home as I intend. John had few days leave, so Nancy has been staying for a week too. Mrs. B came at the same time, so she's in the kitchen room nattering with Mother; the drawing room is full of my-brother-and-his-intended staring soulfully into each other's eyes or whatever. Probably whatever. I annexed the dining table for a couple of days, but now two of Titty's art school chums come round to pour out their souls to her (alternately – so it takes twice the time.) I did ask Mother why Titty couldn't talk to this Lesley in her bedroom. Mother looked a bit shocked. It turns out this Lesley is a Leslie. A bit of a wet lettuce, but even John admits there doesn't seem to be any harm in him. Still, the exams aren't for ages yet. Plenty of time to catch up. The best thing about having not worked hard for all these years is that the masters are quite impressed when I do put the effort in. ….

**Ist March 1939**

Dick Callum tore up the letter, and threw it into the JCR fireplace with some vigour. He then had to scrabble around for the few pieces that had fluttered into the coal scuttle, rather spoiling the effect. Smith looked up from the unholy mess he always made of the cross-word (and in pen too).

"Did she chuck you?" he asked Dick, sympathetically.

Ever the optimist, thinking in platitudes, heading cheerfully for a sportsman's degree; there would always be a place for the Smiths of this world. Dick darkly suspected Smith believed all mental turmoil to be a result of faulty digestion, because his nurse had told him so. Still, he was the most consistently good-natured of all the third-year men. Dick should be civil to him.

"She never was my girl in the first place. Anyway, she's taken up with some wet lettuce from an Art School, according to her brother."

"Terrible chaps these artists. Unreliable. Still, plenty more fish in the sea."

"Not one like her." Despite himself, Dick could not help smiling at his memories. Titty rowing the folding boat to the little island in the middle of the loch with the precious cargo of Diver's eggs; Titty persuading the German airman out of the water; Titty, still dripping wet, running barefoot over the sand dunes and tumbling into the dinghy with seconds to spare. He couldn't bear to hear another word from the amiable Smith and took himself back to the library. No-wonder the little poem in carefully pasted letters had got no response.

**3****rd**** March - Portsmouth**

"Why don't you just tell her?" Titty hoped her exasperation wasn't too evident.

"Won't she wonder why I didn't say anything before?"

"She'll just think you were getting to know her as a person first, not just caring about her looks. Look here, Leslie, Nancy and John have known each other for nearly ten years. They've been engaged since last summer. I bet they weren't arguing about why neither of them said anything earlier."

Leslie might act as if he was daft sometimes, but he wasn't actually stupid. "You say they're about three years older than you? Most of those ten years they would have been just kids really. And I'm not actually sure yet I want to marry Iris."

"No one's asking you to be. Just ask her out for tea and cakes at a corner house, or for a walk." Titty glanced towards the window. Iris was not really an outdoor person. "Or take her round an Art Gallery or something. It doesn't matter if it _is_ one you've both seen already." Titty sat back in her chair. "I don't think there is any more advice I can give you, Leslie. You know where she lives. It's not that late. Go round and ask her now. It's better than 'phoning anyway."

Titty stood up. "Go round there now. I'll be asking what happened tomorrow, so you better get on with it." She warned. There was no need to tell him that Iris would most likely tell her all about it too. Besides, Iris had sworn her to secrecy just as solemnly as Leslie had.

Putting up his umbrella once he was outside the front door, Leslie looked back at her.

"You'd have no problem saying something if you were me." he said admiringly.

"You'll have no problem." She said as encouragingly as she could and shut the front door before Leslie changed his mind again. If only she could manage to take her own advice.

**The Lake – August 1939**

"I thought you'd like to see them." Dick indicated the mice, bumbling around and squeaking at the bottom of the downpipe. "I think they've only just left their nest."

"Too young to know they should be afraid of people." Titty's voice was low. "I wonder how they learn."

"Maybe they see bad things happen to other mice."

"Maybe it happens automatically as they get older."

"It can't be bad experiences – they would only happen once, probably, to a mouse."

"Titty?"

"Yes?"

"Can I take your photograph, please? Here. With the Lake in the background." It hadn't been what he was going to say at all.

Titty stood patiently, waiting while he made sure he had everything set up right.

"It's Nancy and John's wedding. Shouldn't you be taking photographs of them?" she asked.

"You look lovely."

It made her smile a little warmer. He hoped he had caught the moment. He still couldn't find the right words. Perhaps words weren't the most important thing. He moved closer to her.

"Titty?" She turned her head.

"Titty!" Sisters! If it wasn't Dot it was Bridget. "Susan said to tell you to come and say hello to the Blacketts' aunt. And more people are arriving and hadn't you better come and " ush" them Dick, if you're an usher?"

**A few days later**

If she was honest with herself, Titty had to admit that the few tears that she shed (decorously into a daintier than usual handkerchief – Susan thought of everything) may have had less to do with her happiness at her brother's marriage than everyone thought. She really had thought that Dick was going to say something standing beside the Lake next to the little church. Later,he had looked as though he was about to ask her to dance, but had danced instead with Susan. She shouldn't have minded.

She didn't mind, not really. She had seen Jim Brading heading determinedly toward her elder sister, seen the tightness and panic on Susan's face. Whatever had caused Susan's silent misery last summer had been something to do with Jim Brading. Titty had wondered then if Susan was less happy at John's engagement to Nancy than she pretended, until she noticed how carefully Peggy and Susan had plotted to give their captains time together before John had to go back to his ship.

Titty had to admit that she had been happy enough dancing at the wedding with whoever asked her, and had been rather flattered by the obvious admiration of John's friend, David Williams. He had danced well too. Dick had danced with Peggy after the dance with Susan, and then Bridget, then Lady Peter Wimsey, then Mrs Blackett. After that Titty was not sure. Well, it really was no business of hers who Dick danced with. If she was glad that Jim Brading had started to monopolise Peggy, perhaps she was just glad about anything that might lessen the feeling of tension between her sister and their old friend.

She had enjoyed the waltz with Dick and she had rushed down the Beckfoot lawn with Dick's camera so he could take the last photograph of John and Nancy departing for their honeymoon in Amazon. Dick was an old friend. No one watching would think that she thought about Dick any differently than she did about Dot or Peggy. True, she had thought Nancy's eyes had met hers for a moment before Nancy had closed them and thrown her bouquet. Someone had spoken to Titty at just that moment and by the time she had looked back Dot had caught it. Perhaps Nancy had been aiming at Dot all along. Perhaps she had not been aiming at all. Surely not even Nancy would think she could aim something as unwieldy as a bunch of flowers from a moving boat with her eyes closed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: early September 1939**

"I don't know how we would have managed without you, both." Mrs Blackett said to Titty and Dorothea when the evacuees seemed finally to be settled, at least for the time being.

For all her sometimes breathless manner, Mrs Blackett had been surprisingly efficient at dealing with evacuees. Elspeth, Colin and Bridget had been desperate to camp ever since the "baby macs" had arrived. Peggy would not let them.

"The next thing you'll know there won't be any beds for you if you do want them." Peggy had told them sternly.

"It will make things very awkward for Mrs Blackett." Titty told Bridget privately.

Bridget, although slightly younger than Elspeth, was the undoubted leader of the trio. They settled down to not-camping with fairly good grace. Bridget and Elspeth shared the room that Peggy and Nancy had used to share. Peggy moved herself into the spare room. Colin occupied the bed that was Captain Flint's – when he was there.

"It's awfully good of you to give up your bedroom to them like that." Titty said. She, Dorothea, Roger and Dick were camping on the Beckfoot lawn. Both the Jacksons and the Dixons had families of evacuees in their spare rooms. Peggy had come out in her pyjamas and dressing gown to chat.

"It always was a room for two people to share. I'd rather they had it." Peggy said.

"Oh, …" Titty was at loss for words. Had she really failed to think about what this must feel like for Peggy? Peggy had seemed so cheerful about the engagement, so involved in making sure her sister's wedding day was happy.

Peggy herself laughed. "Oh, I've got over the not liking to sleep in a room by myself ages ago. Certainly when Nancy started her PE training. I thought it would feel strange, not being one of two anymore, but somehow I still am. Nancy being part of Nancy-and-John doesn't stop her being half of Nancy-and-Peggy."

"And you thought it might?" Dorothea asked curiously.

"The thought had occurred to me." Peggy replied.

Dorothea nodded silently, the gesture just visible in the near darkness. Did it feel different, Titty wondered, having just one brother or sister? She was about to ask when Dick and Roger came back from the house.

"Still gossiping?" Roger asked. Throwing a pillow at him would only make it damp in the heavy dew. Besides, tomorrow he would be going away. Titty felt a lump in her throat. This time tomorrow she would be missing his teasing remarks desperately. How long would it be before she was as worried about him as she was about John and Daddy?

"Lots of chaps don't have sisters to see them off." said Roger as the locomotive gathered speed. The word "even", carefully omitted from the sentence, hovered in the compartment. Dick glanced quickly at his friend. Had he somehow given away his feelings for Titty? From this angle, he could not tell which of the three girls on the platform Roger was looking at. In the general confusion of last goodbyes and scrambling in, Dick had managed to kiss Titty on the cheek. Still, Dot had kissed Roger in a similar way, so Titty probably still didn't know that Dick had meant any more than simple friendship.

"No." Dick replied. "We're lucky, I suppose."

Roger grinned at him. "Better not tell them that."

Dick nodded, unable for a moment to trust himself to speak. They didn't know what was going to happen. Roger was going to join the RAF. Dick really couldn't see him as anything but a pilot. He hoped the authorities would see things the same way. It was too late to say to Roger "Perhaps you should tell them." They knew anyway. The locomotive climbed the gradient. Someone had cleaned the carriages after the evacuation using Jeyes' fluid, but Dick's nose still told him that some small child had been unable to "hang on" for the long hours that some of the journeys took.

Dick didn't know what he was going to do. First he would have to speak to his tutor, a man who notoriously had never been more than three miles from college in twenty years. After that, well, he would see. Maybe, despite his glasses, there would be something for him to do. The first hurdle would be to convince whoever sat behind the first desk or table he encountered in his efforts to join up that his spectacles _corrected_ his vision. He found it quite mystifying and illogical when people assumed that he couldn't see properly with them _on_. His troubles only started if they got knocked off, and that seldom happened. Admittedly fog could be a nuisance. Condensation could be a problem too, but providing he kept them warmer than the surrounding air he could cope relatively well that that.

"Making props for films. It seems such a trivial thing to be doing." said Titty.

"Oh, I don't know. Morale and all that." said Peggy. "Come to that, selling stamps is hardly a really important contribution."

"Oh, but stamps and telegraphs and things are," said Dorothea, "think how much worse it would be if we didn't have them. Things can be important even if they aren't adventurous." Privately, she didn't think that being unadventurous would suit Peggy for long.

"It isn't as if anything has actually happened yet." said Bridget.

"It has to people in Poland." said Titty. "And on _Athenia_."

After a short, rather subdued pause, Bridget said, "You could write and tell them you won't come."

"You could stay here and be a land girl. They could use help at Low Farm. Jackie's gone to join up. He always said he would if it came to it." Peggy said.

"Oh do." said Bridget.

"I've said I'll start the job the day after tomorrow. Mother has sorted out digs for me. I'll have to go. I gave my word." said Titty.

Dorothea nodded but said nothing.

"And here you are." Mrs Benson stood back and let Titty enter the bedroom first. It was spotlessly clean. It radiated a sense of pride in a job well done. In that, it reminded her a little of the bedrooms at Holly Howe.

This room, however, looked out on the small gardens, and rows of houses behind. The room faced east, but the late afternoon sunlight was reflected from the windows of the houses behind. Small squares of light fell on the wallpaper with its pattern of yellow roses and the single bed with its yellow counterpane. The dark-varnished furniture glowed with hard rubbing.

"Your mum said you'd be happy to eat your meals with us. It'll be nice to have the company of a young person. I'll make you your sandwiches to take to work with you. We normally have our supper at six thirty. They won't keep you later than six at the studio, surely? With this blackout it you won't be safe coming back later. My husband was going to retire this Christmas, but he says he won't now. Not until the war's over."

They looked at each other and smiled sadly. Titty thought Mrs Benson was probably at least ten years or so younger than her husband. She was neither thin nor fat, but radiated such an air of anxiety that Titty was already thinking of her as thin and careworn.

* * *

_Dear Miss Walker,_

_You were kind enough to say that you wouldn't mind my sending you a picture postcard now and then if I fetched up anywhere interesting. It looks as though picture postcards may be in short supply for the time being, so I hope you don't mind a letter instead._

_I'm not sure I'm meant to tell you where I am. Suffice it to say, it's somewhere wet, salty and very, very big. It's bound to have lumps of solid stuff in it as well – we haven't met too many them yet although we are looking. _

_I promised you a picture though, didn't I?_

(Titty smiled at the picture "drawn at an undisclosed location." He had drawn a frame around a portion of the paper, then neatly bisected it with a line and carefully labelled the lower half "wet salty stuff going up and down" and the upper half "Something breathable, going down and up". It was complete nonsense of the sort Roger might have produced and Titty discovered it had made her laugh out loud.)

_As you can tell, I'm currently in the bit of the war that is more boredom and less terror. "We" unfortunately doesn't include your brother (I'd be less bored if it did.) I think someone has spotted he has "Potential" and will go far. Occasionally our Lords and Masters do manage to get something right. _

_I did really enjoy the wedding. I thought I'd be a bit of a spare part, not knowing anyone but John and I'm very grateful for your kindness in not letting me feel left out._

_Anyway, if you get five minutes to call your own and you want the cheer up a member of His Majesty's Navy, I would like to hear about your new job. It sounds rather glamorous. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_David Williams_

* * *

_Dear Mother,_

_Everything is going splendidly and Mrs Benson is very kind….._

Almost oppressively so, Titty found. In the evening she simply found herself wanting to escape to her bedroom to read, write letters and draw. Mrs Benson seemed to be convinced that what young people wanted and needed was constant company. In the evenings that they stayed in, Mr Benson played the piano to them and occasionally they had a sing song. The three voices sounded thin and dispiriting to Titty after the whole-hearted approach of the Swallows, Amazons and D's, although Mr Benson was willing enough to play sea-shanties and Titty could tell he was a good accompanist. There were seldom more than two of these evenings a week, because Mrs Benson took care to involve Titty in her social life as far as she could. At least one evening a week was spent knitting. For many of these, Mrs Benson invited neighbours – especially neighbours with daughters – around or the neighbours invited them. Titty was always included in the invitation and Mrs Benson had generally accepted invitations on behalf of both of them by the time Titty had got home from work. Knitting parties at the Benson's sometimes included a sing-song if Mr Benson was not out firewatching.

…_. We were invited round to the Steele's for knitting yesterday. Mr Steele harumphs and rattles his Daily Mail and eventually goes off into another room. Mrs Steele is kind and very good at needlework of all kinds and helps me a lot. Her daughter Lucy has just left school and I think Mrs Benson thinks we should make good friends for each other. _

Without Jean, Titty didn't think she could have coped without some horrendous disaster that first fortnight. Jean had been in the job exactly two months longer than Titty. The first morning she arrived at the studio Titty was told "Here's Jean. She'll tell you what to do."

It was rather like being back at school again, with herself as a very new prefect and Jean as an efficient head girl. By the end of the first week, Titty felt comfortable enough with Jean to say so. They had finally managed to get their mid-morning tea at one o'clock and were drinking it with their sandwiches. Jean laughed.

"We called them school captain and vice-captain in our school – and I was only vice-captain. Perceptive of you. I don't know about your school, but most of the staff at our school were a lot more rational than they are here. The Scripture mistress was as mad as a box of frogs, mind you." Jean said. "She went home at lunchtime once in the pouring rain to fetch an umbrella in case it was wet at the end of the day."

"Was it?"

"No. It had cleared up by then."

When they had finished giggling Jean continued, "At least you don't get into a huff if someone orders you about. Some people do. We wouldn't last long in this job if we did."

"Acting like that in my family wouldn't last long." Titty said.

"Are they very bossy? I can't imagine that you're the bossy one, Tia!"

"I'm not. Nor are John and Susan really. Not much anyway. But they're older so when we did things by ourselves in the holidays they were in charge. We wouldn't have been allowed to do half so much otherwise. I got my turn at being in charge when it was just us four younger ones."

"Six of you? What does it feel like being in such a big family?"

"There's only the five of us, and Bridget is quite a bit younger. When I said four of us, I meant two friends – the Callums and my younger brother. Dorothea is actually a year older than I am, but they didn't know so much about sailing and camping and so on. And people think Dorothea isn't a very practical person."

"And you think she is?" Jean asked.

"Very perceptive of _you_."

"But you didn't answer my question."

"She is – but in a sort of way that people don't recognise. She makes up stories and so on – writes them I mean – and she's had one published although it hasn't done that well so far. And she's brainy in a passing examinations sort of way. She's reading English Literature at Oxford. She sets herself to learn practical things – tries to be like Susan. Dot's actually quite practical about people and feelings too, really, but somehow people don't always see that. Dot had worked out that Nancy and John loved each other and I didn't believe her, last year."

A shout came from somewhere on the other side of the heap of flats they were hiding behind.

"No peace for the wicked. Gulp that down if you can. I don't think we'll get another cuppa today." Jean said.

* * *

"….. _I enjoyed your picture of an undisclosed location more than I would any postcard_. _I laughed more than I've done in ages – although last night beat it. My landlady took me with her to a knitting evening at her neighbours'. They've got a girl who has just left school and a boy a year or so younger who is awfully keen on aeroplanes and is in the ADCC. He's learnt to play the bugle, and my landlady asked him to show us – so he did. They've got a dog, who looks a bit like a beagle but not quite. When the boy started playing, the dog scrambled up onto the back of the sofa, wagged its tail and howled. Like this…._

She sketched in the sofa, the three of them sitting on it and the beagle behind their heads and their astonished expressions. She supposed Lucy could not really have been surprised. Perhaps she should have changed to pencil before she started drawing– but it looked well enough in pen and ink. Adding any more would be too much she decided.

_My job is very far from glamorous! We seldom get to speak much to the actors and actresses and never to anyone famous. It's only a very minor studio. Asking for autographs would be completely out of course. Fortunately it's not something I would want to do, but I do have difficulty making Lucy Steele understand that I really can't break the rules like that for her._

Titty drew an arrow from Lucy's name to her picture in the sketch.

_Jean and I spent most of the day painting waves onto a background today. It's the most "artistic" thing I've done since I started. Yesterday was spent turning a newly made costume into one which had been worn for years by a tramp._

_Everything here seems unreal (at work it _is_ of course, but I mean the war too.) Your letter reminds me that it isn't. John did send one very short letter saying that he was well. It was so short that anyone who didn't know John would worry – but I don't. He's always been terrible at letters ever since we were children!_

David Williams read the letter with a smile and grinned outright at the last bit. Walker - a poor correspondent? Well, most of Walker's letters hadn't been to his sisters after all, obviously, and anyone who had dared to rib him on the assiduity of his letter-writing had always got a freezing response.

David grinned again, this time at himself. The next letter he _ought_ to write was to his Auntie Nesta. The next one he _would_ write would be to Titty Walker. Not that _Exmouth_ would give him much opportunity today – or tomorrow either.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – Phoney war**

"The photographer is coming in today." Jean said.

"Photographer?" Titty paused, an enormous papier-mâché urn in her arms, and looked round the studio. She could see two of the usual cameras with two of the usual cameramen.

"The stills photographer. For the publicity shots. Mr Mortimer. He's a freelancer. He's a bit… temperamental. Would you be alright looking after him today if I dress and undress the drawing room sets? There's nothing there I can't manage by myself. I'm sorry to do this Titty, and if _Labour of Love _wasn't already running behind I'd let you do the set."

"What do I have to do for the photographer?"

"Try not to let him get so offended he goes off in a huff. Try not to let him offend anyone important so that they throw a fit of temperament. Oh, and don't let him go anywhere near Maureen. They can't stand each other – I don't know why."

Maureen was one of the make-up artists. Titty could see how a photographer and make-up artist might clash. Each would have their own ideas about how the leads ought to look for the poster photographs.

If it was likely to really bad, Jean would have done it instead. Titty had already worked out how Jean's sense of fairness operated in this respect. It wasn't in fact a great deal different from Susan's or John's. Mr Mortimer would have irritated Susan severely, however. He was untidy and Titty found herself trailing after him with an increasing pile of objects including his hat, coat and a large piece of cardboard covered in silver paper. He was a tall, sparely built man and strode around the studio quickly. Encumbered as she was, Titty found it increasingly difficult to keep up with him. She had thought Dick could take a long time to take one picture, but that was nothing compared to these photographs.

The task spilled over from the morning into the afternoon. Titty was dispatched to fetch a mug of tea ("Strong tea – no dishwater – I know what they're like here") from Gladys- the-tea-urn. Gladys, a good-natured soul from Wigan who laughed at her nickname, poured out a mug and pushed it towards Titty. Titty was loathe to upset Gladys but felt she had to mention that a strong brew had been asked for.

"I know that quite well, tillymint, but that's_ your_ mug of tea. He'll never think to ask you if you're thirsty. You may as well drink it while you can get it. They talk of rationing but they've not done anything yet. If anyone says you've taken longer than you should have – why it's not your fault if I was due to top up the old urn and you can't make tea with water that wasn't boiling."

"Thank you." Titty gasped between sips. She had still not learned to drink tea as quickly as John or Susan could – at least not without burning her mouth.

It turned out that Gladys was wrong.

"Didn't you get some for yourself?" Mr Mortimer asked.

"I, um, had some while Gladys was getting yours ready." Titty had to admit.

"Well, I'm going to have my lunch now. You've got about 15 minutes if you need to go and get something for yourself. Or are you one of these idiots that skips lunch to stay slim and then eats more biscuits and sweets than anyone else?" Mr Mortimer sat down on a plywood park bench that was waiting for Titty to "age" it and glanced briefly but deliberately at Titty in a way that she didn't feel quite comfortable with.

"My landlady gives me sandwiches." she said, judging it better to ignore the rest of the remark.

"Well sit down then." he said.

Mr Mortimer, munching his way through a pork pie (He had brought some chutney separately in a small jar.) was unexpectedly good company. He had travelled a great deal in the course of his work and was quite willing to tell various stories about his time in Egypt, California and Mexico. Lunch lasted for about half an hour and the stories continued on and off for the rest of the afternoon. After he had gone, Titty felt she could quite truthfully assure Jean that her day's work had been easier than Jean's.

* * *

_Dear Mother,_

_Thank you very much for the coloured inks and also the paper – both exactly what I needed._

_Yes, Mrs Benson continues to be very kind to me indeed and certainly looks after me. The only problem really is in trying to make sure she doesn't do too much for me! She has insisted on doing my duty and her own on the fire-watching rota as she doesn't think it right that I might be possibly be alone in the dark with a strange man. Actually, she and Mr Benson take turns in doing my turn. Mr Benson has to do one day a week at his Works too. The only time I get to do any pictures on my own account it on Friday evenings, when Mrs Benson fire-watches as herself. Mr Benson settles down to a serious practice for the hymns for Sunday and I sit at the table and sketch and occasionally actually paint. (Only in water colour - I'm a little nervous about using oils in the front room – and it has to be the front room on Fridays, because of only having one fire and that's where the piano is.)_

_I've had a letter from Iris. She has joined the WAAF – or will have done so by now since her letter was posted last Tuesday. I haven't heard from Bridget apart from my birthday card. I had wonderful box of drawing pencils in different grades from John and Nancy. I think Nancy had chosen the pencils on her aunt's advice. It doesn't seem quite the sort of thing either of them would have known about._

_Roger is coming next weekend as he won't get long enough leave to go to Portsmouth and see you. Mrs Benson is rather disappointed that he won't be staying overnight since she feels that their folding sofa bed doesn't get enough use! She is already making plans to "feed him up". I'm sure Roger will appreciate them!_

_Much love, Titty _

* * *

Lucy Steele was waiting to show Titty and Mrs Benson the new dress and shoes she had bought for the dance she was going to next weekend.

"I thought I may as well get them while I can in case they start rationing clothes as well as food." Lucy said airily. "And really I get asked to dances so often I'm sure I'll get the wear out of them. Boys are so silly really aren't they? There's Harold saying I have to go with him and Ronald saying he'll be completely miserable if I don't take him as my partner. What would you do, Tertia?"

"Err – I've never been in that situation." said Titty rather weakly. "So I don't know".

"Well, I shall keep them both wondering and see who is the nicest to me." said Lucy, giving one final swirl of her skirt, before running upstairs to change before they settled to the evening's knitting.

"So tell us more about your family then." said Lucy Steele, flourishing her knitting as she sat between Mrs Benson and Titty on the sofa. "What does your father do?"

"He's in the navy. So is my older brother, John." Titty said, hoping not to lose count of her stitches.

"I'll have to knit him some socks." said Lucy with great determination. "I think I admire the navy most of all the forces."

Mr Steele rattled his newspaper with all the vigour of a man trying to encourage a sulking fire, except that he remained in his armchair.

"I thought your mother seemed such a nice lady when I saw her." said Lucy. "Not that I got to speak to her of course, just saw her from the window."

"And do you have any sisters, my dear?" asked Mrs Steele, perhaps a little hastily.

"I've got two sisters, one older and one younger and a younger brother."

"Is your older sister married?" Lucy asked.

"No, but John got married this summer. Susan, my older sister, is a nurse."

"How old is your sister-in–law?" Lucy asked. The newspaper rattled again.

"Nancy is twenty- two, no, twenty-three now. The same age as John."

"Not very young to be married." said Lucy.

"Not very old either." said her mother quickly. "And your younger sister and brother, dear, are they still at school?"

"Bridget is. She's evacuated with friends at the moment in the Lake District and enjoying it tremendously. My brother Roger has just left school and joined the RAF. He's got a few hours leave next weekend so he's coming to see me. Portsmouth is too far."

"What does your brother do in the RAF?" Mrs Steele asked.

"He's training to be a pilot."

"Your poor mother must be so worried."

"I should think she'll be pleased won't she? Being a pilot is the most important job." Lucy said.

"I should think they are very careful when they are a training them. I really shouldn't worry too much Tertia dear." Said Mrs Benson hastily.

"I try not to." Titty managed a brief small smile.

"And you had a letter from your other brother only this morning so you know _he's_ safe too." Mrs Benson continued. There was nothing phoney about her desire to save Titty from worry, but at every reassurance Titty felt the anxiety inside her tighten. It would be too cruel to tell Mrs Benson, even privately, that her well-meant efforts to reassure her lodger always made Titty feel worse.

"What did he say?" Lucy asked.

"That he was well. And that Nancy had bought _Swallow."_

"Is that the boat you spoke about?" Mrs Benson asked.

Lucy's eyes widened and she seemed at for once lost for words.

"_Swallow_ is only a very little boat – a sailing dinghy." Titty made haste to explain. "And she's quite old – although she's very good. The evacuees – not Bridget of course- damaged her and Mr Jackson was going to sell her. So Nancy bought her and Bridget sailed her round to the boat builders and _Swallow_ is going to be repaired."

* * *

Titty felt more rattled by the evening than she really should. With the blackout carefully pulled across, she switched on the bedside light and pulled out the tin biscuit box she kept under the bed. Tonight she left the lengthy letters from her parents and Dorothea tied up in their separate bundles. She put aside another bundle – the concise letters from Susan and John. A collection of lively, funny and disorganised letters, sometimes heavily blotted, from Bridget, Nancy and Roger lay beneath the bundles. Under these were a couple of letters from Dick. Titty reread them. They were more detailed than John's, more carefully written than Roger's or Nancy's and just as interesting as any of the others. In his own way, Dick wrote just as well as Dorothea.

Titty thought back to the conversation on the Beckfoot lawn with Peggy and Dorothea and the question she had not asked. Perhaps being one of two meant that people always saw you as opposites. People failed to notice when Dorothea saw a practical solution to a problem. Dick had cared just as much about those Great Northern Divers surviving and bringing up their eggs – well chicks –as about proving that they were Great Northerns. It seemed desperately unfair and she thought that perhaps it was more unfair on Dick. It was a pity that he didn't seem to care about her in the way she cared about him. Titty imagined herself talking to Dick, explaining how she felt about him (or how she thought she felt about him – was she totally and completely sure of her own feelings?). She could picture Dick's embarrassment, the desperate spectacle-cleaning as he frantically searched for the right words to let her down as gently as he could.

The last few letters at the bottom of the box were from David Williams, who was still respectfully addressing her as Miss Walker. She counted them. Seven letters in eight weeks. Amusing letters, asking after her life as if it really mattered and giving her a better picture, in a few comments, of life on a destroyer than John had – at least in letters.

_Do you do paint the scenery in colour or shades of grey? Of course for the sea that may be the same – but what about for the park scene? If coloured films ever become common do you think future generations will think we lived in black and white?_

Titty slipped out of bed and fetched her fountain pen and some writing paper from the top drawer in her chest of drawers. She scrambled back into bed and lay propped up on her elbows with the bed clothes pulled up over her shoulders.

She thought for a long time before she uncapped her pen, remembering the house near Shotley, the Christmas holidays when Sinbad had been so nearly cat-napped and they had stayed up until midnight and made their own pantomime. She remembered Susan's voice gentle in the darkness of their bedroom. _You can't make someone love you just by loving them. _Was she even remembering Susan's words correctly? Had Susan said "love" or "care about"? Whichever it was Susan had been right in the end about Sinbad. Titty lay staring at her writing paper for at least ten minutes and could not have told anyone, even herself, what her thoughts had been. She uncapped her pen and began her letter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's notes:**

I should have perhaps have mentioned that **this** Lucy Steele is my own invention. Nominative determinism can, however, be a terrible thing. Neither Mrs nor Mr Steele have ever read a single page of any novel by Jane Austen, so perhaps we can excuse them. Reggie Pomfret is however making a flying visit (um, sorry, I really couldn't help it) from _Gaudy Night _by Dorothy L. Sayers. I promise to put him back unharmed when he has finished serving King and Country. Anyone else you don't recognise as Ransome character also has me to blame for their existence.

**Titty: Chapter five**

"Dick? Oh I had a letter from him. Meant to put it in my pocket and didn't. It's just as well he always _has_ been a bit of a swot really – they're going to make some sort of allowance for the war. Seeing as he's done two years already, he's only got to finish his dissertation and do a _viva_ sometime and one written paper that everyone reckons he can swot for by himself and they'll let him have his degree – providing he's doing war work in the meantime."

"Well, he wouldn't be doing anything else!" Titty said, rather hotly. She was slightly surprised to see the ghost of a smile flicker across Roger's face.

"Well there, according to Dick, is the rub. He was expecting to join up. He wasn't really expecting to stay a civilian." Roger said.

"Is it the spectacles?" Titty asked. Dick would mind terribly. He worried quite as much as Dorothea did, although more quietly, about doing his fair share and not letting other people down.

"No – although for all I know that could be part of it. They've got him inventing stuff - a better star-shell or something- in a workshop somewhere. Some chap knows someone who knows his tutor, who's a funny cove at the best of times Dick says, and the being allowed have his degree without finishing his three years was conditional on his joining this outfit. They just tell him what they want done and he has to find a way to make it work."

"Rather like one of Nancy's schemes." Titty remarked.

Roger grinned. "I thought that too. He didn't say anything much about Dot. Have you heard from her?"

"Her parents' won't hear of her doing anything until she's finished her degree. She says she went to talk to the Dean about it. Apparently the Dean listened sympathetically and then told her that her parents were quite right. About the only difference it made was that the Dean gave her the job of unpacking, sorting out and indexing some stuff that's been evacuated from a library in London." Titty said.

"Well, that _is_ war work."

"It's about metaphysical poets and was in a terrible tangle. Dorothea said it really didn't seem that important but the Dean's asked her three times already for the some obscure piece of information from the stuff."

"What is a metaphysical poet anyway?"

"John Donne was one. There were a few others."

"John Donne?"

"We had a piece of his for recitation. "Death be not proud.""

"The sort of thing the Amazons' great aunt would approve of?"

"Not all of them, I don't think." said Titty, remembering a few others that had _not_ been set for recitation.

Mrs Benson popped her head around the door to the front room.

"Here are Lucy and Arthur Steele come to invite you to a dance." she said.

Roger and Titty stood up and Titty made the introductions. She thought Arthur looked rather bashful. Lucy spoke first.

"There's a dance tonight that we've both been invited to. We know it's short notice but we wondered if you'd like to come along as our partners."

Arthur went bright red, swallowed visibly and looked imploringly at Titty. "Umm, it would be very kind of you, umm.." Even his ears appeared to glow.

Very short notice indeed, thought Titty, for a dance Lucy has been talking about since last week. And what had happened to Harold and ..what had the other one been called? And Lucy hadn't mentioned Arthur being invited at all then.

"That's very kind of you," Roger said, "but I've got to be back at the station by seven o'clock to be sure of getting back."

"Oh," said Lucy, then "Oh" again.

Arthur gathered a breath and began, "Of course Miss Walker, if you"

"What a pity." said Lucy quickly. "But Arthur has lots of questions to ask you. He's in the ADCC."

"That's if you don't mind, sir." Arthur added hastily.

Roger started to laugh, tried to turn it into a cough and then decided he may as well be honest.

"Sorry," he said, "But only a few months ago I was at school myself and I don't really feel grown-up enough for people to call me "sir". I'll do my best to answer questions, but I'm very new to this too."

That seemed to be all the encouragement that Arthur needed and Titty could see that Roger was enjoying answering the questions, which were mainly about engines. Titty found herself enjoying her brother's enthusiasm and understanding more that she thought she would.

She really felt quite annoyed when Lucy leaned over and whispered "Engines are very boring aren't they? Aren't boys silly?"

As Titty tried to discretely rub the smell of setting lotion away from her nose, Lucy leant forward and said to Arthur,

"I'm sure Mr Walker doesn't want to be pestered. He flies the aeroplanes. That's more important."

"I'm too young to be Mr Walker as well too young to be sir – you'd better call me Roger and of course the engines and the aircraft themselves are.."

Lucy gave a little laugh. "I really mustn't monopolise your time. Come on Arthur!"

"Thank you ever so much." Arthur stammered.

"Are you going now?" asked Lucy asked Roger in some astonishment.

"No – it was just that, err, you stood up."

"Umm good bye Miss Walker. It was awfully good of you err…." Arthur was blushing again.

"Good bye." said Roger, rather more firmly.

"I'll see you out." said Titty.

She held her finger to her lips when she re-entered the room.

"Mr and Mrs Benson are very kind to me." she said.

* * *

"And they insisted that we accompany them to the station. Well you probably saw us. He asked me to call him Roger, of course, and said that I was so kind and how much he was glad he had met me." Lucy paused to reapply her lipstick. "He's a pilot. I could tell that he was quite taken with me."

"How old is he?" Doris asked. Her mother would not allow her to wear lipstick until she was sixteen.

"Oh, at least eighteen I should think." Lucy said airily.

"Golly."

* * *

Walker took such a determined approach to his training that Reggie Pomfret found it difficult to remember how young he really was sometimes. He wasn't the only one in that group who seemed older than his years– although he was one of the two or three with the most natural talent. Reggie's job was simply to teach them the basics of flying a small aeroplane and then hand them on.

" …I don't quite know what they really wanted, but you could see it was the girl's idea." Walker was explaining in response to Reggie's question. "Her poor brother looked as though he wanted the ground to open and swallow him up. She was all dolled up – although she had said she was going to a dance, so that was fair enough I suppose. So they shot out of their front door and she had her head down and pretended not to see us until they were practically on top of us and then said they were walking in the same direction and just trotted along with us all the way to the station. She wobbled a couple of times on those silly heels and then took my arm. It was a bit like meeting an octopus."

"It's the uniform." Reggie shook his head sadly. "She sounds an especially blatant specimen. How old was she?"

"She'd left school, so she must be at least fourteen, but she seemed younger than Titty."

Reggie had met that sort himself of course. He had met plenty of the other sort too, women of unbending and occasionally devastating honesty. (Reggie made sure his smile was an inward one only. He had after all been an idiot at Oxford – but a very lucky idiot.) He suspected that Walker, sensible though he was, had had very little experience of dealing with insincerity. Reggie could not bring himself say anything to disillusion the boy.

* * *

_Dear Titty,_

_That's very kind of you. Your brother did speak of you as Titty, but your little sister told me you preferred to be called Tia and that rather terrifying older lady referred to you as Miss Tertia Walker in a __very__ pointed way!_

_How is your little sister enjoying being evacuated? She seemed so cheerful I could imagine her settling well anywhere. Strange your landlady and the old man having the same name – still, it isn't a wildly unusual one. _

_I have heard the word "tillymint" before. I'm surprised you've heard it used in the home counties though, because I've heard it used only in Liverpool. It's an endearment ... of sorts. Not the romantic sort of endearment, more something on older person might say to a younger girl. Who is the person calling you tilly-mint? Your landlady?_

_Are you still painting waves? I made a few sketches to help you in that case. (_Titty found herself giggling at the row of smiling stick figures, each waving one arm in the air.)

_Or did you mean the other sort? _(A collection of wiggly lines).

Yours sincerely,

David

* * *

_Dear Dick,_

_You didn't say where you were, so I've sent this to your college and hope it gets to you somehow. At least it has a satisfyingly brief address. I think I'm doing alright at training, but they don't really tell you that much. No one has indicated I should be serving my country is some different way though – so I'll take that as a good enough sign. Yes I did get some hours of leave – enough to visit Titty, not enough to go home. Her landlady seemed disposed to kill the fatted calf for me and seems a kindly sort. I met a couple of the neighbours too – the girl is a couple of years older than Bridgie I think – and I must say I'd be sorry to see Bridget wearing that much stuff on her face – but the brother seems a sensible enough fellow – eaten up with embarrassment for some reason – but asks intelligent questions. They came to ask us to go to a dance. Copenhagen seems a long way away!_

_Best wishes, Roger_

* * *

Copenhagen did indeed seem a long time ago and a long way away. Dick could well imagine why this girl's brother might be eaten up with embarrassment. He should be glad Titty had friends and was going to dances. Did the neighbours work in the film studio as well? It was a whole glamorous, imaginative world away from fiddling with wires and acids. Standing up to his ankles in mud made a pleasant change in fact, but it was only for today.

"Callum! CALLUM! Where the blazes are you?"

"Here, sir. I haven't moved."

"Well, where the blazes am _I_?"

"Not sure sir, but if you'd shout occasionally I can probably find you."

Dick shoved the last of the equipment back in his knapsack and picked up the second knapsack. He started to push his way through the grass two yards high that shrouded this end of the reservoir so usefully from prying eyes. Underwater one-man stealth vehicles need a lot of further development. The steering needed bit of improvement and they had yet to test it underwater. On the other hand he had done quite well in seeing water-fowl. Some of the winter visitors were beginning to arrive.

"And bring my knapsack. It's time for lunch."

"Yes, sir."

"And stop calling me "sir". I'm not your bloody schoolmaster." came the voice, not far to Dick's right.

"No, sir. I'm your bloody nursemaid." Dick muttered. As a civilian he felt entitled to that much insubordination at least.

* * *

"How's your brother enjoying learning to fly?" Jean asked.

"He loves it." Titty dodged a rail of costumes being pushed past. Extras as down-trodden peasants by the look of it, she guessed. "Have we got an order for down-trodden pitch-forks coming up?"

"Why? Oh that – no, I believe they're down-trodden factory workers. We've got to do eight cubic yards of early nineteenth century street refuse that we can rearrange into different piles. But that isn't until next week. I thought we could reuse the wax fruit from Labour of Love."

"Maybe not the bananas?" Titty suggested.

"You're quite right." said Jean, "It's lucky you've got that eye for detail. I'd not have thought of that. Anyway, today you're to look after Mr Mortimer again. He's doing the photographs for Labour of Love. He asked for you especially this time."

* * *

Mr Mortimer had not lost his ability to disconcert. Titty was beginning to suspect he did it deliberately, to see what she would do. It didn't help that he never seemed to look at anything or anyone for more that a fraction of a second, except through the camera lens.

"How old are you?" He asked her abruptly, as he was setting up his tripod again.

"Twenty. How old are you?" Titty regretted her boldness almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth and awaited the explosion that must surely follow. Well if she was fired, her parents would have to let her join the WRNS.

"Thirty-one." There was only the faintest trace of hesitation before his reply.

* * *

_Dear David,_

_The waves are currently in use as a back drop to the set with the bridge of a naval frigate during the Napoleonic wars. Yes, I know there shouldn't be one, but script calls for a bridge. Jean says she mentioned it when the set was first planned and was told very firmly that they didn't want to hear about it. A couple of days ago, we were still finishing dressing the set when the heroic captain turned up a bit early to run through part of a scene. Every time he said port he gestured to starboard and so on. There was no-one else around, so I did mention it to him __very __politely. (We aren't really supposed to speak until spoken to.) He was absolutely charming about it. We were still there when the director turned up and started the rehearsal. The director did notice that the gestures were the other way round this time and I thought I'd be in trouble but the actor raised his eye-brows and said that he had several acquaintances who were serving in the navy and that now he knew the truth of the matter he was not prepared to compromise his integrity!_

_I did manage to thank him when I was handing round cups of tea in a break. He just said "It's true enough and I hope someone would do the same for my daughter if she did what she knew was the right thing." _

_It was Gladys who operates the tea urn who called me "tillymint". She comes from Wigan, so I suppose that might explain it. She's older than me by a considerable amount - she has two grown up sons. My landlady comes from a village called Thoday somewhere in East Anglia._

_Yes, we do continue with the knitting evenings and the Steele's dog is still not reconciled to the bugle – or perhaps he really likes it. Lucy has now decided that since John is married she does not have to knit him socks to show her admiration of the navy (_Titty smiled. She really could not imagine Nancy sitting down to knit, although the hammock she had made for herself was really quite decent.) _Lucy has now decided to show her admiration of the RAF by knitting Roger some socks instead!_

_I do understand why you tell me what you have done and not what you are doing.  
If I don't ask any more questions it's because I don't want to ask the wrong thing. Your mother must be delighted at having at least a slightly greater chance of seeing you. I can understand how you must feel pleased at doing something other than escorting a convoy – and of course I'll be interested to find out what it is once you've stopped doing it!_

_I hope it goes well whatever it is! _

_Best wishes,_

_Titty_


	6. Chapter 6

**Note:** Besides Arthur Ransome's characters and my own, there is a fleeting glimpse of one character from the Wimsey Books, since SimonC has kindly said he like their visits. In fact Sayers fans might notice a few little hints I'm giving about two of my own characters. Please do let me know if you've worked out what it is - it won't be a spoiler if you do.

**Chapter six: winter war**

"Callum, your parents live in London don't they?"

"Yes, sir."

"Going to visit them at the weekend?"

"I wasn't. I don't think I'm going to be finished here before three or four on Saturday at the earliest."

"What if I gave you Saturday morning off? You could go on Friday evening and go round the shops and see if you can buy any fireworks on Saturday morning and come back on Monday."

"Any particular fireworks?"

"Rockets, for preference. See what you can get – we may have left it a bit late for this year. The locals are getting a bit curious. Bowen is going to go down to the pub on Saturday night, have a fair few pints, and mention the star-shells."

Bowen looked up from his work bench and grinned. "Oh, the advantages of an untrustworthy, irresponsible face."

"Or a gormless one." said Hardy from the next bench. "What do I get to do then?"

"Help me set them off. We don't want more than one or at most two on any given evening – it needs to be over before people have had a proper look."

"Not until the very end of November at the earliest, I should have thought." Dick said thoughtfully. "People are more likely to see just fireworks if that's what they're expecting."

"You'll have to go to several places to get enough, I should think. Don't be worried about buying too many – I expect they'll be impossible to get next year, so we need enough to last us for a bit."

* * *

"Hello? Nancy my dear, how lovely to hear you!"

"I'm Peggy, Mrs Callum. I'm ringing from Euston station. Mrs Dixon has sent you a goose. I've got it with me. May I bring it round now? It seems rather unfair to turn up at Aunt Helen's with a goose that isn't hers – and she won't be back from work until much later."

"Of course. How lucky you're here this weekend. Dick's coming home, just from this evening until Sunday. Do you remember the way here? It's tricky in the blackout. Perhaps I should send my husband to meet you at the tube station. You remember which one?"

"Yes and that would be lovely." said Peggy, who was already finding the goose rather awkward.

"You just take the first train you can. I hope you can stay for a meal with us."

"Thank you Mrs Callum, that would be lovely."

_Pip pip pip pip _

"Sweetheart, that was Peggy Blackett. She does sound like Nancy. Dot said Peggy was joining the Wrens. She must be going to the same place that Nancy's at. Could you meet her at the tube station? I thought it was better than trying to explain about which buses. She says she's got a goose from Mrs Dixon with her, so she would probably like a little help."

"Did she say whether it was a live goose or a dead one?" said the Professor.

"You know, I never asked."

* * *

"You might be a lot safer staying here overnight, Peggy. There_ are_ more accidents in the blackout. You can go to your aunt's first thing in the morning, and after all you have your overnight things with you."

"It's very kind of you, but it's too much of an imposition."

"It isn't really. I've already made –up Dorothea's bed and put a hotwater bottle in just in case. And if you do go to your aunt's tonight, I think someone should go with you. I don't think you should be running about London in the dark."

"Has your aunt got a telephone? Could you ring her to explain?" the Professor asked.

"No, but one of their neighbours does, and she's always willing to pass on a message."

"Why don't you ring her now," said Mrs Callum, "while I see to the pudding? Then we can enjoy it without worrying about anyone having to go out again this evening."

The professor smiled ruefully at Dick as they heard Peggy's voice from the hall explaining the matter to someone called Marjorie.

"I'll admit I was quite worried about that goose until I discovered I wasn't expected to wring its neck. I suppose there's still the business of plucking the feathers. _Have_ you ever plucked a goose, Dick?"

"No, but if it's anything like skinning a rabbit, it's a lot harder than it looks."

"Perhaps you'd better tell me how to do that before you go back. Just in case."

"What just in case?" asked Mrs Callum entering with a steaming pudding. "Thank you, Peggy. Yes, if you could put the jug of custard down on there."

* * *

_Dear Titty,_

_I hope you're well. I'm well and busy. I expect I will be on duty on Christmas Day and Boxing Day but I will probably get Christmas Eve and the day before off, so I hope I will get to see you. You are going home for all 4 days, aren't you? I will certainly see Bridget who will be coming to Portsmouth for a week unless we start having air-raids. Mother and Bridget at least will get to see everyone (except probably John) even if we don't get to see each other all together._

_I expect it will be a strange and rather sad Christmas for Mrs Blackett without either Nancy or Peggy. I met Peggy for lunch on Saturday. She stayed with the Callums on Friday and was going to her aunt's for Saturday and Sunday evening. Dot was still at Oxford, of course, but she said Dick was there, and that they had been shopping in the morning. He likes the people he works with, Peggy said, but otherwise didn't say much about the actual work. She had got the impression it was somewhere in Bedfordshire or Cambridgeshire, but wasn't sure._

_Peggy said Captain Flint was back at Beckfoot but she didn't know how long for. She also said Mrs Blackett has got some chickens and Bridget is doing most of the work with them._

_With love,_

_Susan_

Why the Callums? Why did only Dick come home to see Peggy?

Don't be silly, Titty. You always knew he admired both the Amazons immensely. You just assumed it was no different than the way he looked up to John. Dick is your friend. Peggy is your friend. You should be just as pleased about them as you were about Iris and Leslie.

Titty had to admit that her eyes and the lump in her throat didn't seem to pay any attention from the sensible and almost Susan-ish talking to she was giving herself.

All right then. If you can't be sensible, have your weep out now. Think about it until you can think about it without crying, and then think about something else. That way you can smile and be happy for them when you have to, and no-one will ever know you mind. Be glad you had some warning to get used to the idea. And above all, make sure you never let anyone realise you mind. No-one.

* * *

It's too cold to just walk round." said Doris, "and no-one can see our frocks anyway, with our coats on."

Lucy had had a new coat this winter, but her mother had insisted on warmth rather than style, so she was inclined to agree with Doris.

"We could go to church," Lucy said, "and laugh at all the old frights in their strange hats. The evening service is in the afternoon because of the dark evenings and blackout. Mrs Benson said when we were knitting."

"We shouldn't!"

"And what's wrong with going to church? We shan't laugh out loud of course, but we'll know we're laughing inside. We'll sit at the back. I'll let you wear my lipstick if you like."

"I think I'd rather not."

"I wish you would – you look such a kid without and it makes people think _I'm_ just a kid."

The service wasn't especially long. Doris enjoyed some bits, especially singing. It was one of the things she missed most about school. Singing by herself didn't give her the same uplifted feeling.

At the end they sat in the pew as some of the congregation walked past them to thank the vicar before they left. Doris felt uncomfortably aware of Lucy's elbow in her ribs as a dowdier than usual hat or coat passed. A lot of the people smiled when they passed them and said "Hello" or "Good afternoon". One lady came and shook their hands.

"It does me so much good to see new, young faces, here. I'm so glad you came today."

"Let's get out next before the Bensons come and try talking to us." Lucy muttered. Doris was happy enough to make her escape.

"Did you notice that Mrs Benson didn't take communion?" Lucy asked. "I wonder if she's committed some terrible sin and can't?"

"Have you heard any more from Roger?" asked Doris hastily.

"Oh, he's too busy to write much, of course." said Lucy. That after all was true, most probably. Titty hadn't said much about Roger when Lucy had probed at the last knitting evening. She then had to listen to news about the sister who was nursing and might be sent abroad soon. And Lucy had after all not said that Roger _had_ written to her had she? It wasn't as if she was telling a lie.

* * *

_Dear Titty,_

_Yes, I know, I should have written before. I have been more than usually busy however. I suspect you've been getting quite enough letters anyway. Williams mentioned that he was writing to you and asked if I minded – as if I would! You'll make your own mind up and I'm not trying to tell you your business, but Williams is quite a decent sort and a lot more soft-hearted than he lets on, so do try not to break his heart won't you? Of course I've threatened __him __with Nancy if he upsets you!_

_Ordinary jobs still have to be done – and it sounds as if you're doing rather well at yours. You must be, because it sounds the sort of place where they'd pretty soon tell you, and loudly, if you didn't. _

_With love, John._

It was a first, even for John, to manage to write a letter saying absolutely nothing about how he was or what he was doing. Titty read it again. "Unusually busy" could have applied to anyone since the war started. (Except possibly Mr Steele who never seemed to turn the pages on that newspaper of his. Perhaps he was busier than usual at his mysterious office job in local records.) The rest of the first paragraph was the more important.

She liked David. She had liked him a lot when she met him and had very much enjoyed dancing with him. She looked forwards to his letters. Titty _had _wondered if the letters were just friendly or whether David might be thinking eventually of more than friendship. Of course it was just possible that David thought that John might mind him writing the ordinary sort of letters – which these had been. But surely no-one (apart from presumably the Amazons' great-aunt) minded that sort of thing nowadays. Titty stuffed John's letter into the pocket of her raincoat and unlocked her bicycle. She felt unusually irritated with her older brother.

* * *

Mr Mortimer appeared to be getting through the day without one unsettling remark this time, Titty thought. He already had his equipment bags slung over his shoulder and was folding down the legs on his tripod, which he always carried tucked under his arm.

"So have you got a boyfriend?"

Titty hoped her brief hesitation didn't show. "Some of my friends are boys. Some are girls."

Mr Mortimer looked straight at Titty, holding her gaze for a few seconds. "There's nothing ordinary about you, is there?" he said, and strode away.

* * *

_Oh John, you are a complete and utter galoot sometimes! _

_You couldn't have written anything else to Williams of course, but as for what you wrote to Titty! If she isn't sure she likes him like that yet, she's all too liable to give him his marching orders, trying to do the decent thing, instead of giving him a chance. They've seen each other __once!_

_I wasn't "trying to bung that bunch of flowers at Titty" as you so elegantly put it, because of anything I'd noticed about her and David Williams – so you are crediting me with more than I deserve there! In fact, I was jolly surprised by what you said in your letter. _

_Maybe this seeing romance everywhere is some sort of side effect of being married__**?**__ Mother visited the Swainsons the other day. She says that Mr Swainson is now convinced not only that Roger has a young lady (tall with blonde hair and a funny name, very pretty apparently) but that Peggy and Timothy are all but engaged. Mrs Swainson is quite convinced by all this too. What will we be like when we've been married sixty years? _

_Of course, if your friend does upset Titty he had better watch out, whether he outranks me or not – and he might not by then of course._

_Even if you are a galoot sometimes, you're __my__ galoot and I love you more than anything and anyone._

_Mother wrote to say that Uncle Jim has turned up again. He just rang from the station to say he'd arrived. He'd grown a beard. She said he'd better shave it off pretty quickly if he doesn't want to find himself dishing out presents at a party for evacuee children! Not that he's quite so much the right shape any more._

_I'll write again tomorrow. You'll probably get these in any old order anyway._

_With lots and lots and lots and lots of love, Nancy._

* * *

_My darling Nancy,_

_Was that my very first proper telling-off as a husband? I think I've escaped lightly. I did promise Peggy I wouldn't "Yes dear" you (The prospect appeared to worry her considerably.) but you might be right. On the other hand, sometimes someone saying something does push things along a little bit!_

_Of course I'm feeling a little conceited. It's quite reasonable because:1)You tell me you love me.2)You admitted you aimed that bouquet.3)You were "Jolly surprised" by my letter. Does that mean you were aiming at Dorothea all the time?_

_I don't imagine your uncle's disappearance and reappearance and the situation between Finland and Russia are entirely unconnected. As for what we'll be like in sixty years' time – alive and together would be enough for me. Although I expect we shall be fretting about how the grandchildren are doing._

_With even more love, _

_John_

* * *

_Dear Titty,_

_Look, I seem to have put my foot in it. I'm sorry. I would do just about anything rather than make you feel uncomfortable or unhappy or have you stop writing to me. Since John has seen fit to mention the matter to you, I suppose I'd better try to explain. Please don't be angry with him and, if you can, try not to be angry with me either. It seemed underhand somehow to write to John and not mention I was writing to you. After all, I would probably mention it if you were merely two friends of mine who knew each other. And I hope you might regard me at least as a friend?_

_I like you a lot. I know we've only met once, but I know that. I like your letters. Yes, I'll admit I would be even happier if one day they came "with love from" at the end of them. __One_ day. _And only if you meant it. __If I did something else for a living and times were different I could ask you to a dance, take you out to tea, the pictures, the theatre or for a walk and we could take our time finding out if we wanted to remain as friends only or be something more. But we haven't got that time – at least not for the foreseeable future. (If we did, where would you like me to take you? Would the pictures be too much of a Busman's holiday? Would you mind dreadfully when I asked you to a Gilbert and Sullivan - my tastes aren't exactly fashionable I'm afraid, but if yours are highbrow I'll do my best to swot up!)_

_So if you would be kind enough to continue to reply to my flippant little bits of paper, knowing how I feel, then I'd be very happy. And if you someday wanted them to be a little less flippant, I'd be even happier._

_Yours very sincerely,_

_David_


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note:**

Characters that are not recognisably by Arthur Ransome are my own invention. _Captain Abby and Captain John is _a real book that I have never read and I'm not absolutely sure it was published in the UK. I have not read the _Happy Highwayman _although I read plenty of other "Saint" books when I was younger. A description of Patricia Holm might possibly shed an interesting light on Roger's ideal girl-friend.

I should make it very clear that my own characters are exactly that. They may, of course, do or say or see or hear something that has happened to a real person, but they _are _fictional.

**Chapter seven:**

"So how are you spending Christmas, Tia Walker? Going back to your doubtless doting and protective family are you?" Like all Mr Mortimer's personal comments it unsettled her. Titty had been feeling, guiltily, that she _was _over-protected. Attack was the best form of defence. She had heard both John and Nancy say so. Titty could attack as swiftly as either of them she reminded herself, thinking of the night she capture _Amazon_.

"I'll see my mother and my sisters certainly, I hope. And how about you, Mr Mortimer? How will you be spending Christmas? Pleasantly, I hope?" It was not capturing the _Amazon_, but the best she could think of on this short notice.

"Pleasantly - I hope too. Not with a family – doting or otherwise."

"I hope not alone."

"Ah – feeling a little guilty are we? You can stop worrying – I expect to spend Christmas in very pleasant company."

It was not until she was in bed that night, with the candlewick bedspread pulled up to her chin, and her dressing gown spread on top of the bedclothes, that Titty realised that Mr Mortimer had after all not said he would be spending Christmas with anybody. Perhaps it had been unkind to carry the war into his camp in that manner.

* * *

"Pegs said she had a prior engagement – she didn't say with whom, so I expect it's someone from school." Nancy said.

So Nancy didn't know about Peggy and Dick either. Titty wasn't going to point out that since Nancy and Peggy had been to the same school, Nancy would know most of Peggy's friends. It hadn't been an especially big school, so far as she recalled from what Peggy had said. Surely Peggy would mention a school friend? Titty made some inquiry about Nancy's plans for Christmas.

"Everyone else wants leave at Christmas. And I'd rather have the leave when John has some, if I can wrangle it." Nancy prodded the last bit of scrambled egg on her plate and didn't look up at Titty. When she spoke again her manner was not so breezy. "We wasted so much time – I was so convinced he couldn't possibly be interested in me except as a friend that I didn't say anything at all to let him know how I felt. And with this," her expansive gesture with the fork narrowly missed a passing nippy, but Titty knew she meant the war, "it could easily have been too late."

Nancy looked up and caught Titty's eye. After a brief pause, the familiar cheerful Nancy manner slipped back into place.

"I expect it was made with powder egg. They're doing their best." she said, and added a forkful of egg later, "The GA has invited herself to Beckfoot for Christmas. Doesn't like the idea of rushing round trying to scrape up a Christmas dinner for herself, probably."

"I thought your mother had invited Mrs Mac."

"She has. It isn't as if there is any chance at all of Mac being back. Uncle Jim will just have to sleep on the sofa."

Titty drank the last of her tea and began to fish in her bag for her purse.

"No, you can pay next time." said Nancy, pulling a rectangular parcel out of her bag and handing it to Titty. "I hope it's as good as the reviews said."

Titty produced her own parcel. "If you think you might want to wear it before Christmas, you can open it."

"Shall we say this is the official start of Christmas and open them now?" Nancy suggested.

_Captain Abby and Captain John, _- it seemed to be a biography from the last century – sailing ships. Titty looked up to thank Nancy and thought for one moment she had made some terrible mistake in her choice of present. Nancy seemed to be looking through the red knitted hat at something that only she could see.

"Is it alright? Susan said you had had to throw the old one overboard in the Baltic."

"Yes. Yes, I'm just remembering. John said we should give it a proper sea-burial and not just chuck it." She smiled at Titty – and it was not the usual Nancy grin. "Let's get the bill. You've got to catch a train to Portsmouth." was all Nancy said.

* * *

Bridget had never been short of opinions. Four months as a guest in someone else's house – even someone as understanding as Mrs Blackett - had left her with a considerable backlog of opinions she needed to air.

"All the same there are plenty of rules that are plain stupid." Bridget said, waving her fork for emphasis, to the detriment of the tablecloth. "Take the post office for example. Miss Letty and the Hardmans know Peggy's new address, but if someone sends a letter to her at Beckfoot it has to be delivered at Beckfoot, then we have to re-address it and then it has to go back in the post again. Miss Letty isn't allowed to simply bung the right address on when they get it at the post office."

"It won't happen that much, surely, and Mrs Blackett could tell the person Peggy's new address." said Susan.

"It's happened three times so far with the same person, and Mrs Blackett doesn't know the writing. Elspeth says she thinks it's male rather than female handwriting, although I don't know how she thinks she knows. It isn't John or Roger anyway, and the letters have come since Captain Flint came home."

"Timothy?" was there a slight suggestion of a smile on Mother's lips. Titty was surprised by how much the possibility cheered her.

"Captain Flint says he'd recognise his writing – and it isn't his." Bridget said. "It seems to have stopped now anyway – Peggy must have told him."

Titty glanced across at her other sister. Susan's face was particularly quiet and thoughtful. Susan said nothing. Titty felt a little sick, though she had not really eaten much more than usual.

* * *

_Dear Titty,_

_Thank you for the "Happy Highwayman" which I am enjoying. It is handy having something I can pick up and put down. Patricia seems to be missing – although I'm only half-way through the third story so she may turn up – I hope so._

_Your neighbour very kindly sent me a pair of very short socks, so I will write and thank her._

_Happy New Year,_

_With love, Roger_

* * *

_Dear David,_

_I hope your Christmas was good – or at least as good as it can be under the circumstances. _

_I thought quite a bit about what you said. I do_ _like you a lot. But – it's easy to hurt someone by only liking them if they felt more than just liking. I don't want to hurt your feelings. Perhaps someday I could care for you in the way I think you'd like me too – but I can't promise it. We __are __friends, so please don't stop writing. You don't have to make your letters "flippant" or write only to amuse me unless that's what you want to do. Even "only friends" can write about serious things to each other._

_We could, if you liked, pretend we __had__ been to plays and so forth together and discuss them – although we'd have to choose carefully. I haven't been to much by Gilbert and Sullivan. I have seen "HMS Pinafore" and enjoyed it very much. Which one do you think we should go to next? I'm not terribly high-brow in my tastes – at least if by high-brow you mean the sort of thing where people talk for hours about their feelings and do nothing much. Nancy and Peggy's aunt took Susan to a few like that. I do like Shakespeare, but I don't think anyone could accuse him of writing plays with nothing happening. But perhaps next I'd prefer it if you took me out to tea or even dinner if you liked and I asked you more about your family. You've met mine._

_With best wishes for the New Year,_

_Titty_

* * *

_Dear Titty,_

_I can promise you I won't stop writing, although it might get difficult at times. _

_I'm sure we both enjoyed "_Pinafore"._ I walked you home afterwards, I'm sure, and evidently I __did __pluck up the courage to invite you to dinner. Did I dare to kiss you on the cheek when I said goodnight? Or did we just shake hands? Or did you keep me very coolly at arm's length?_

_You asked about my family. I have to admit straight away that I have a much less interesting family than yours and a much smaller one – at least as regards brothers (one) and sisters (none at all). I do have a seemingly endless supply of aunts and cousins. I used to rely on my parents for briefings before visits involving the more distant cousins! Most of them live in North Wales or Liverpool or London. Nowhere exciting like Australia. Except for the last war, I think I'm the only one who has ever been overseas. Do you ever think of visiting Australia after this is all over?_

_Dad died two years ago. My older brother is also called John. He takes after Dad and is the brainy one – went to Oxford, and is a currently schoolmaster – not for much longer if he has his way. He's three years older than me and we get on pretty well – although no-one lets him forget he tried to swop me for a puppy when I was a baby._

_As for the next step in your G+S education, you might like to see "_The Mikado"_ next. I'd agree with you mostly about Shakespeare, but had the misfortune to see "_Love's Labour's Lost" _a few years ago. Talk about something and nothing! _

_Ah well, I suppose I had better walk you home before your mother starts to worry. I'm very tempted to take a longer route home so I can talk to you for longer, but I think you might notice. Where would you like to go next? Now, will you be offended if I kiss you on the cheek this time?_

_Happy New Year!_

_With very, very best wishes, _

_David_

* * *

_Dear David,_

_Thank you for taking me to dinner. I had a lovely evening, although mysteriously I can't remember exactly where we went or what we ate. (Actually it was vegetable crumble – sounds odd but was really rather decent.) Thank you, too, for walking me home. I think we shook hands after " _HMS Pinafore". _I'm not sure about after the dinner – but if you did I wasn't offended._

_I'm afraid we probably can't go and see "the Mikado" until I actually do see it, but perhaps we could spend an afternoon in an art gallery and then have tea. Some pictures are being evacuated and so forth, so we might be lucky enough to find an art gallery with some of your favourite paintings and some of mine in it. _

_I wish there was something between "Best wishes" and "Love from" to put._

_Titty_

* * *

_Dear Dot,_

_Thank you for the Christmas card. I hope you had a good Christmas. Did you all manage to be all together for Christmas? We didn't manage it quite because John wasn't there and Susan only had a few hours with Daddy and only met Roger at the station. It might well be the last time we are (mostly) all there until the end of the war. Mother says the lease on the house is coming to its end and coal will be difficult to get, so she's look for somewhere smaller, and possible in Plymouth. Mostly she's there by herself. It will seem strange – although as Susan says we've moved before lots of times and it always has been alright – only then we were all together._

Titty wondered if she should mention the letters from David. Should she ask about Dick? Suppose she got letter from Dorothea joyfully telling her about Dick and Peggy? Suppose Dorothea didn't know about Peggy and Dick? Dorothea was her friend, but so were Peggy and Dick. It would be disloyal to discuss this with anyone else.

_I hope things are going well at Oxford. Only five months left._

_With love from Titty._

* * *

_Dear Titty,_

_As for serious things – if I get some leave (more than a couple of days), I would really like to see you. Rosyth is a long way from the Home Counties and I'm not asking you to travel that far, but do you think you could travel as far as Liverpool? It seems very unreasonable to ask this of you, but it also seems very unfair on my mother for me not to see her. She's been on her own ever since Dad died and since my aunt now has evacuees billeted on her it's hard for her to visit Mum or the other way round._

_Mum isn't one to put two and two together and make twenty six, and she isn't likely to do or say anything to make things awkward. I think you'll like each other by the way. Mum is always happy when the spare room is in use. Even if you couldn't get any time off and could only come for the weekend I would __very much__ like to see you. I would quite understand if you didn't feel quite comfortable coming by yourself, so if you'd like to bring a friend with you I quite understand. The spare room has two beds! It seems rather strange and bad-mannered to invite you without saying when – but when I do get leave I don't know how much notice there will be. Of course if you don't like the idea I could come and visit you for a day or two if you prefer. There's bound to be somewhere I can put up near the film studios. And if you don't like either idea I can understand. (I'll just mope, that's all!)._

_I just wanted to give you time to think about the idea before I sprang it on you._

_As for the our visit to the Art Galley – I'm feeling a bit embarrassed because you know a lot more about the subject than I do. I will admit to liking pre- Raphaelite paintings – not always ones with figures, but certainly the landscapes where the colour seems so vivid and you can see each little plant in a hedgerow. I also like seascapes and if they have sailing ships in them so much the better. Which paintings did you like best? It may of course be Constable, whom I know I'm meant to admire, and can't. I'm perfectly willing to make another effort at it if he is one of your favourites and you'd like to explain, however._

_And I completely agree with you about the something between best wishes and love from. The number of times I've tried not to laugh at your brother, seeing him write a long letter without a pause and then sit staring at the bottom of his paper for about ten minutes! I suppose they were to Nancy. I'm glad now I was soft-hearted enough not to pull his leg about it!_

_Oh blow it! Just because I write it, it doesn't mean you have to! It's true anyway._

_With love, David_

* * *

_Dear David,_

_Yes, I would like to see you, and if it's possible I'm quite prepared to travel to Liverpool. As for bringing a friend with me it's very kind of you to think about it, but I don't think I should. It's bound to get very tricky with ration books would not fair to your mother. I'm so new that time off work could be a problem, but I should be able to manage a weekend. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it. _

_I know what you mean about not admiring artists you know you are supposed to admire. I'm not that keen on Constable either, but should you mind my showing you a lot of impressionist paintings? I think I showed you "Lavacourt in the snow" and explained how much I liked the different colours in the snow and how it reminded me of the snow on the fells behind the igloo the winter Nancy got mumps and we were in quarantine and couldn't go back to school for ages. And because you like seascapes, I would show you the one of the rock arch (I've never seen it myself – only a print but I would like to.) and one of the ones with sunlight on plants with dappled shade. All very different from the pre-Raphaelite paintings you showed me – but I enjoyed them a great deal too. _

_I still want to write something __between __best wishes and love from,_

_I'm sorry._

_Titty_

* * *

_Dear Titty ,_

_Don't__ be sorry! It would be a pretty poor repayment for your wonderful letters, if writing them made you unhappy._

_And I did enjoy the Monet paintings. It's rather encouraging that we both seem to like outdoor things better than indoor. When you come to Liverpool I'd like to take you to Formby and we can walk on the sand dunes and the beach itself. Lots of people do that in summer, but I like it better in winter. If there is a bit of wind and the sun if low in the sky, the sand seems to shimmer as it blows along at ankle height. It makes a strange noise – not exactly a whispering sound, but I don't know a better word to describe it._

_If I don't finish this now it won't reach you!_

_With love, David._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"So Mother is moving to Plymouth. It's further from Susan in Gosport but then Susan says if there is any chance of volunteering to serve on a hospital ship she will. Mother's going to try to find a small house or even a flat." Titty explained. Scenery painting was the most companionable of their tasks.

Jean's voice came from the knee height, where she was painting part of the forest floor. "A house would be better, to put an air-raid shelter in the garden. And less building to fall down."

"Yes, although a flat would be easier to heat I suppose." Titty agreed, stippling leaves onto a bush. "There's actually such a lot of things to find places for – I expect it would be worse if we hadn't moved quite a few times while we were growing up. Mother has already sent all Bridget's things to Beckfoot and most of John's."

"Must be funny, really, being married and still living with your parents."

"It's not living with, exactly, because neither of them is there, most of the time."

"Quite annoying – not having your things arranged as _you_ want them."

Titty smiled. "I think John's used to having things arranged as _Susan_ likes them, in the holidays at least. Just because he was the captain of the_ Swallow_ didn't really mean he was in charge of the camp."

"And your sister-in-law?"

"I think a house is just a thing for getting out of for Nancy, preferably by the window." Titty smiled. They had all rather enjoyed the rose trellis at Beckfoot that first year it was up, before the roses got too big. She decided to ask the question she had been meaning to ask Jean about for a few days.

"If I wanted to ask for time off – a day only really – perhaps a day and a half – would it be allowed? Will they let me go if it's quite short notice?"

"I expect so." said Jean, "We aren't doing quite as much work as usual. You've been here a quarter, so you must have earned at least a day or two of your paid holiday."

"If I have to take it unpaid, that's fine." said Titty, "I've been saving a bit each week."

Absorbed in delineating a twig, Titty did not see Jean's thoughtful look.

* * *

_Dear David_,

_It looks as though I can get a day or even two off work. As much notice as possible would be a good thing of course. _

_Where shall we go next after our trip to the Art Gallery? There is one particular walk I would like to take you on, but not yet. We can go to see "the Mikado" though! Jean's mother belongs to an amateur group that put on one musical or operetta a year. It was meant to be performed in September but was postponed. They're doing it for two nights in school hall next week. Jean's mother is only in the back row of the chorus and I think Jean is quite pleased that I want to see it. Which songs are you favourites?_

Titty found herself chewing the end of the pen. Perhaps Susan was wrong after all. Perhaps David had made her care about him simply by caring about her. That was unfair. There was a lot more to make her care about him than that. He was kind and amusing. He had been prepared to enter into the game of pretend evenings and afternoons together. He was so considerate. David didn't deserve to be a second best. Perhaps he would not always seem so, even to her. Here she was, reasonably cosy with her eiderdown about her shoulders while he was somewhere on the bitterly cold North Sea.

_With love, Titty._

* * *

Titty hadn't complained when Saturday morning became Saturday afternoon and she was still at work. She found she was looking forward more and more to seeing David again. It might be terribly awkward of course. She was fairly sure David would not let it be so. It was nearly dark when she retrieved her bicycle from its dark corner. If she rode slowly, she should be safe enough, she thought. It could not be dark as the might below the trees in Wild Cat Island. She bade goodnight to the director of "_Labour of Love" _who was quietly and vehemently discussing photographs spread out on a table with Mr Mortimer.

She was most of the way home before she encountered the heap of sand. It had had no sharp edges give away its position and offered no contrast of shade to the road it was piled on. Titty was thrown forward onto the handle bars, but not hard. She didn't think too much sand had got onto the wheel-bearings. Perhaps it would be safer to push the bicycle and see if anything needed to be done to it.

The door opened as soon as the Titty arrived outside the house and Mr Benson hurried out.

"I'll see to this. You go straight in, Tertia."

"It's fine. They just kept me late at work."

"It may not be bad news, but there is a telegram, love. You go straight in."

Mrs Benson, sitting inside the door, put the telegram straight into Titty's hands and put an arm around her shoulders. Stupid that she couldn't stop her hands shaking. She looked first at the sender. Nancy. Please let it not be John. Please let it not be Daddy.

_Very sorry. Exmouth sunk. All feared lost. Letter follows. Nancy._

Titty stared and stared at it. She showed it to Mrs Benson.

Very gently, Mrs Benson asked. "Who was on HMS_ Exmouth_?"

Titty felt vaguely surprised. She supposed she hadn't mentioned David to the Bensons.

"David. A friend."

Mrs Benson nodded. Titty was surprised at how clearly she was thinking. She seemed more, not less, able to notice every little thing. If only she could stop shaking.

"Sit down by the fire. You need to drink something hot. I've had the kettle nearly ready all afternoon." Titty obediently sat by the fire, but found herself pacing up and down the cosy sitting-room within seconds.

"Tertia." Mr Benson was standing in front of her. "Is there anyone you need me to telephone? I can go out and telephone whoever you want me to."

Titty considered. Mrs Williams would receive an official telegram – the sort Titty had briefly feared this might be. Nancy already knew. Nancy would tell John. Titty shook her head. She knew Mr Benson meant did she want a friend to come and see her. She could not bear the thought of explaining how she felt and the story of her correspondence with David to anyone.

"Here's your tea. Sit down while you drink it if you can."

* * *

She wondered why she wasn't crying. She had fallen asleep with surprising quickness on Saturday and Sunday nights, only to wake in the darkness a few hours before dawn.

* * *

Very privately, Nancy Walker could admit she was in a bit of a funk. She knew she was no good at this sort of thing. She knew getting it wrong would hurt Titty even more. Nancy was not foolish enough to think that if David's admiration for Titty had been one-sided, this would be any comfort to Titty now. Anyone who knew Titty would know that. John would do this better, but he wasn't here. She couldn't reach Susan or their mother by telephone to explain.

The next letter was going to be more difficult still.

_Dear Titty, _

_I am so very sorry for the shock you must have had receiving a telegram, any telegram. I am even more sorry for the news it contained. I hope the telegram arrived before you saw the news on one of those placards that newsagents have or in some similar way. __John had mentioned that David had been writing to you, so I thought it was important to tell you before you simply "heard". _

_There is very little news to add to the telegram, except that it seems to have been a torpedo, and that it looks increasingly likely that there are no survivors. By the time this reaches you, there may of course be something more and it might be in the papers, but if I do find out any more I will let you know. John left me a copy of his address book, which includes Mrs Williams' address, which I'm putting at the bottom of the paper in case you need it. After I finish this letter I will write to her of course._

_With much love,_

_Nancy_

So, Titty thought, should she. The trouble was she had no idea of the right thing to say. Could there ever be a right thing? She should start by re-reading David's letters. As she took David's letters from the tin- box, Mr Benson started playing the piano downstairs. It was not the accompaniment to any song or hymn but a piece entire in itself, soft and rippling. Titty found herself staring at the letters spread on the candlewick bedspread, some of them not even the right way up. There was the little sketch of the "waves", the stick figures looking rather like the messages from Nancy when she had mumps all those years ago. Eight "D"s all with different legs, although from upside down the legs looked more like arms.

Titty scrabbled for a pencil in the pile of oddments on her bedside table.

I L O V

Her body was wracked by sobs before she had finished decoding any more.

**Author's note:**

The destroyer HMS Exmouth torpedoed on 21st January at about 5.35 am, while escorting the merchant vessel _Cyprian Prince. _She sank with the loss of all on board. I have checked as carefully as I could that no David Williams, or indeed any Williams was serving on her at the time. My use of a genuine vessel in fiction in this way is intended respectfully.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_Dear Miss Walker,_

_I'm writing on behalf of my mother with thanks from both of us for your letter. Before we had the news, my Mother had mentioned how much David was looking forward to seeing you again and how much she was looking forward to your visit._

_Just after the New Year, David posted some letters to Mother, "Just in case." I enclose the one addressed to you._

_Please could you pass on to your brother and your sister-in-law our thanks for their letters to Mother?_

_Yours sincerely,_

_John Williams_

* * *

_Rosyth_

_6th January 1940_

_Dear Titty,_

_If you are reading this, it will be in one of two circumstances. I hope we are sitting cuddled up on the sofa in our own home with the war as a distant memory, feeling nostalgic about how we first met. In that case I can say everything I want to say in person. _

_If that isn't the case, I shall just have to do my best to say it now. I'm told these letters are very hard to read at first and helpful and comforting later. I hope this one is. Comforting, that is._

_If you were a different person, I would consider it presumptuous to think you would need that much comfort, at least as things are between us now. But one of the things I love about you is your kindness and sympathy. And that sympathy may make things more difficult for you now._

_I was waiting for the chance to say this in person – I love you._

_I love your kindness and your sympathy and your understanding of others and your imagination and your drawings and the way you dance and laugh and anticipate what other people might need and your smile and your face. I love you._

_We won't know now how things would have "turned out," between us._

_I do want things to "turn out" well for you. All the wonderful things about you deserve to be appreciated by someone. Not just by your family and friends either. I hope he's kind and considerate and understands and appreciates your intelligence and courage and…._

_I could go on. You deserve great happiness with someone and I hope you find it._

_Try not to feel too bad about me, at least not for too long. I have a wonderful family, some great friends; I'm doing a job I love (mostly). I've been happier, and certainly luckier, than most people ever are. Despite the war, these last few months have been the happiest of all. Thank you._

_David._

* * *

_Dear Titty,_

_I've made some inquiries and your last letter must have reached David, because there are no undelivered letters hanging about anywhere in the system. It reached him via Aberdeen or Cromarty. I hope this is an answer that helps rather than hurts. Tell me or not – whichever you'd rather._

_The weekend after next, Peggy and I both have time off on the Sunday afternoon – at the same time. (The second officer responsible for drawing up that particular rota might have had some influence.) Peggy also doesn't have any prior engagements. (The Captain of the Amazon is saw to that!). It isn't quite enough time for us to get to you, now there aren't the expresses – but would you like to come to London? We'd both love to see you of course._

_With much love, Nancy (and Peggy)_

* * *

_Dear Nancy,_

_It does help – and thank you for finding out. _

_I had a letter from David's brother. (He is called John, too.) He asked me to thank you and John for your letters to his mother too. However dreadful it is to write letters of condolence, replying to them must be even worse._

_I'm afraid I won't be able to come to London though, because one of the neighbours is having a sixteenth birthday party at the village hall – or what would be the village hall if this was a village and not a town. I think it's called the memorial hall actually. Mrs Benson and I have said we'll help set it up ready. _

_So let the Mate of the Amazon have her prior engagement – and I hope you enjoy the afternoon too._

_Love to you both, Titty_

* * *

_Dear Roger,_

_Thanks for your letter. Yes, a lot of the people I knew from Exmouth were still with her. I think relatively few of us __were__ posted elsewhere. Do you remember my friend David Williams? You met him at the wedding. He danced a lot with Titty. He __wasn't__ posted elsewhere. He was a good friend and I shall miss him a great deal._

_I know you don't have much time off – but if you could use any of it to visit Titty, I'd be feeling a bit less worried about her at any rate._

_John_

* * *

Just dancing with Titty? Roger thought John would not be quite so worried about Titty if that was the case. Titty always had been a great letter writer. He couldn't guess if John had been in Titty's confidence or Williams'. Either way that didn't matter.

_Dear John,_

_Of course I will. I'll even risk the neighbour!_

_I don't think the girl is a particular friend of Titty's really, but they go to the same knitting evenings and so forth. Anyway the kid, I think she's about fifteen or so, sent me a pair of very short socks to express admiration for the RAF. So I wrote a thank-you note of course – __and she's written me three letters since__! The first one was mostly just saying how much she admired the RAF, but she was sort of fishing for compliments, saying she expected wasn't as pretty other girls I knew. The next one arrived before I had a chance to answer the first, asking if I had another (!) girlfriend and asking what I thought the prettiest thing about her was and stuff like that. I didn't know how to answer that one, so I didn't and another one in the same vein arrived just less than a week later._

_This girl just turned up (with her brother) the last time I went to see Titty and then __just happened__ to meet us on the way to the station and walked along with us to the station. For once in my life, I'd even listen to some brotherly advice, if you have any! I don't want to write something that upsets her enough to make it awkward for Titty, but I don't want doing anything that will encourage this kid._

_DON'T LAUGH AND DON'T TELL ANYONE, __ESPECIALLY__ NANCY._

_Roger_

* * *

_Dear Roger, _

_I managed not to laugh. I suppose it isn't at all funny really. Titty has mentioned the knitting evenings and this family and the dog that howls at the bugle, and she didn't say or even hint that there was anything there that might explain it. No, of course I won't tell Nancy if you don't want me too._

_I've certainly never been in that situation. Perhaps you'd be perfectly safe in a naval uniform! I'm not entirely joking about the uniform. Couldn't you wear your own clothes if she's that keen on the RAF? With luck you won't meet her again anyway._

_If someone was pestering Susan or Titty or Bridget with letters they didn't want, I'd write and tell them to jolly well leave my sister alone. Could you just send a short note saying you don't think it's proper to write to her, so you'd rather you didn't correspond? I don't see that there's anything to take offence at there, so she's not likely to be beastly to Titty. After that don't respond if she keeps on doing it! Failing that, write to Father. He doesn't laugh at that sort of thing and a cruiser in the Med. isn't the far side of the world._

_Sorry to not have much advice the one time you ask for it._

_John_

* * *

_Dear Miss Steele,_

_Thank you very much again for the kind gift of socks and for taking the trouble to write. I do think however that it would not be quite proper or respectful of me to engage in a correspondence with you, so please forgive my delay in responding to your previous letters._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Roger Walker._

It made him sound pompous and a complete prig. It rather suggested that his parents had brought him up with great-aunt like…well he didn't know what the word was. Brought him up like the great-aunt would anyway. It didn't matter what Lucy Steele thought of him, so long as she wasn't beastly to Titty about it. And after all, Lucy Steele had made it perfectly plain (not accidently Roger thought) that she did have boys falling over themselves to ask her to dances and so forth.

_Dear John,_

_I've taken your advice about the letter. It makes me sound like a completely pompous ass, but never mind. I don't see that there is anything there to cause offence or hurt her feelings._

_As for the clothes – my uniform trousers and the suit I had for your wedding are about the only things aren't too short. Not by much, but by enough to notice. Seems you were right. Still perhaps it will all help!_

_Roger_

* * *

"Of course, I don't mind you arriving now. Do sit down and I'll make you a cup of tea. Doris, this Tertia's brother. Roger, this is Doris Westbrook. Doris, now you know I'm making the tea anyway you stay and have a cup of tea and warm up before you walk back. It was very kind of your mother to send the sugar round and it would be a pity if you caught your death of cold and missed the party after all. Tertia will be back from work by one o'clock"

"How do you do, Miss Westbrook." Roger wasn't about to make the same mistake twice if he could help it.

"How do you do."

Mrs Benson had bustled back into the kitchen. There was a small silence. Roger had to say something.

"That's a lovely smell of baking."

"Mother says Mrs Benson is the best person at baking she knows. That's why Mrs Steele asked her to do some cakes for Lucy's party." There was a pause. Doris added shyly. "Have you come for the party? Lucy talks about you a lot."

"I've only met her once." said Roger. This Doris wasn't plastered in make-up and seemed very unlike Lucy, but he thought he had better be cautious.

"Oh, but your wonderful letters!"

"I think you must have misunderstood. I've written to her once, just to thank her for a pair of socks she knitted in this knitting evening she and my sister belong to." Roger did not think that this apparently level-headed Doris had misunderstood, but however Lucy Steele had behaved, he didn't think he should humiliate her in her friends' eyes. He wasn't going to help with a lie either.

"I came _just_ to see my sister, and I'm only staying for the afternoon." Roger said firmly. Doris met his eyes briefly.

"Oh." she said, and then "Oh again."

Silence fell.

"Do go to this knitting evening?"

"No, Mother isn't happy with me going out after dark by myself. And Dad has so many nights on duty – he's an air-raid warden. And of course Mother can't come and fetch me and leave my little brother alone in the house."

Roger felt it was not his place to ask why Arthur, or his father could not escort Doris home, with or without the assistance of the bugle-hating dog.

"I wish I could. I do like your sister a lot. She did a lovely little picture for my brother when he had measles. A water- colour with sailing boats and children in them on a Lake. My brother liked imagining he was one of the children in the boats."

"That sounds like Ti... my sister. I'm pretty fond of her myself."

Roger greeted the arrival of the Mrs Benson and her pot of tea with considerable, although he hoped well-concealed relief.

* * *

"Oh Doris!" Lucy was the last person Doris wanted to see just now.

"Hello Lucy." Doris said. Mother always said _least said and soonest mended_. Perhaps that was good advice.

"Oh Doris, you'll never guess what. I'm so happy."

"So I should hope, with a big birthday party tomorrow."

"You're just jealous because I'm the only one having big party."

Perhaps that was true. Doris wasn't sure about the jealousy, but Lucy was certainly the only one of their little group of friends who was having any sort of sixteenth birthday party. It would be look very mean, of course, not to help as much as possible with the catering for it, although Doris had found it difficult to persuade her mother to part with the sugar. It was hard to make Mother understand how difficult life might be, if Lucy Steele decided you had behaved badly.

"I'm happy because Roger has come – I told him I really wanted him at my party."

"I know. I've just taken the sugar round to Mrs Benson."

"Did you see him? Doesn't he look marvellous in his uniform?"

"He wasn't wearing it. Just ordinary trousers and a jersey." said Doris, adding rather grudgingly, "He is fairly handsome though. I should be getting back to lunch. I suppose you've had your hair done – it does look nice."

"You really ought to get yours done properly. I wish you'd make an effort Doris. I know it's only a waitressing job, but you never know who you might meet. You don't want to be the only one left on the shelf when the rest of us are married do you?"

"I've got to go."

Lucy was not after all the object of a hero's affections after all, so no sympathy was owed to her on that score. Lucy had not even been honest. Doris was suddenly absolutely sure that Lucy was wrong about the jealousy. She didn't want to be like Lucy.

Doris would go to the party and smile pleasantly and give Lucy the scented soap and talcum powder she had bought and wrapped up. She would ignore the little barbed comments about waitressing. Lucy had claimed her as a friend since that first day in infant school, so she wouldn't tell the other girls about what Roger Walker had said but she wouldn't repeat Lucy's lies either.

Doris was late but all her mother said as she came through the back door was "The walk did you good then."


	10. Chapter 10

**(**Author's note: Yes, Titty Walker _can_ hold a tea-plate and a saucer in her left hand, _with _a full tea-cup on the saucer and shake hands etc with her right hand without spilling anything. I expect Susan is very good at it too. They both learned it from their mother, of course. It does take practice!)

**Chapter 10**

This was really a stroke of luck, Lucy thought, waiting on the doorstep for her brother or mother to let her in. Roger might just be there for the day, as he had been last time. She couldn't ask anyone. It would be impossible now to admit that she didn't know.

Lucy wasn't quite sure how things had got to this point. She had begun to think that she would have to say she had had a falling out with him. It was, she was sure, quite as much the other girls' fault as her own. He _had _been very polite to her, and stood up and opened the door and so on. He could easily not have let her take his arm on the walk to the station. She had only said to Doris and Mary that she had hoped to get a letter from him soon and then when Doris asked a week later if she had "heard anything" she had told them a few things that Titty had mentioned at the last knitting evening. Well, she had heard it. And Doris and Mary and Lizzie had kept asking, and sympathising with how worried she must be. If they had talked a little about weddings, well, they had always done that ever since they were tiny, playing together in Lucy's bedroom, with Lucy processing round in her mother's veil and the others following as bridesmaids.

And then after the socks Roger _had_ written her a letter, and it _was_ rather sweet (in her opinion, which was all that counted), even if it appreciated the socks and the kindness rather more than Lucy herself.

Here at last was Arthur to let her in.

"Mum's in a bit of a flap about the sponge cake." Arthur said. "There's a letter for you."

And there was. The writing on the envelope was the same as on the envelope she carried everywhere in her pocket and didn't mind when the other girls saw that she did.

_Dear Miss Steele,_

_Thank you very much again for the kind gift of socks and for taking the trouble to write. I do think however that it would not be quite proper or respectful of me to engage in a correspondence with you, so please forgive my delay in responding to your previous letters._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Roger Walker._

How dare he! How dare he write that! "Not quite proper" Well, did that mean he thought she wasn't proper to write? The cheek of it. Her first impulse was to storm into the sitting room, wave the letter in front of her father and demand that he DO something.

But then – this wasn't another girl of her own age not-inviting her to their birthday party or saying something that had upset her. She could hardly get her parents to demand that he write to her. The only thing was to avoid him which would be easy enough and think if something to tell the other girls. They wouldn't admit it was mostly their own misunderstanding. Usually Lucy would have no compunction in telling them it was their own fault. She rather prided herself on saying what she thought.

She'd have to say something. Saying that he had another girlfriend would be unbearable. She didn't have another boyfriend and the others were sure to say something horrible about her if she found one and then said she'd thrown Roger over for him. Harold had cooled off and she was not absolutely sure she could bring him round again enough to be any use. And Ronnie – Lucy frowned, moving her make-up around on her dressing table – Ronnie was agreeably ready with the compliments, but seemed all too keen to follow them up with kisses and hugs.

Of course, if Tertia Walker had an ounce of feeling or sympathy, she would have encouraged Roger to write to Lucy and sung Lucy's praises to Roger. _Anyone_ who was really friendly would have done so. Lucy felt almost as aggrieved with Tertia Walker as she did with her brother. For all she knew, Tertia had discouraged her brother from writing to Lucy. She probably had, Lucy decided, she hadn't quite showed the gratitude that Lucy expected at the offer to knit socks. That just showed, thought Lucy.

Everyone would see that Tertia Walker wasn't really as sweet as all that at the party.

* * *

Titty was still putting out the little sandwiches. She had only been able to butter one of the two slices of bread on each and the potted meat was spread very thinly.

Mary, putting pickled beetroot into a little glass bowl, asked, "What are you giving Lucy for her birthday present?"

For the Walkers, birthday presents had been given and received only within the family. Even then, pocket money had been a bit stretched in September. Different people did things differently. It was Sunday, so Titty had no chance of buying anything. She only had one present from Christmas that she hadn't started to use.

"A pair of stockings." She said. Luckily she and Mrs Benson were going back home to change, she would try to find a bit of tissue paper or something to wrap them up in. Susan had written "You might want to keep them for best – I think lots of things are going to be really hard to come by soon."

* * *

The stockings were received rather coldly, although Titty couldn't see that they were a worse present than the ones from other neighbours. She had met a few of Lucy's friends and their mothers when setting out the cold buffet. Mr Benson was operating the gramophone.

Titty heard Lucy hiss to her brother, "Don't just stand there, make people dance."

Blushing so horribly that Titty's own ears burned in sympathy, Arthur approached Titty and stammered something that might have been "May I have the pleasure?" The meaning was clear enough anyway, and they were not the only people dancing, as Lucy and a boy about the same age and Mary and another boy were already dancing. Arthur didn't dance too badly, but this might have been because he was counting, lips silently moving. Titty thought it would be unkind to start any conversation. The dance was over. Arthur gravely thanked her and went to ask Doris to dance. There were more girls than boys, but Titty rather thought that no-one would go home from the evening without having been asked to dance at least once. As Roger said, not a bad kid.

Abruptly she went over to Mr Benson.

"I'm sure Mrs Benson would love a dance. Why don't I work the gramophone for a bit?"

He looked up, and she could see the words "That's alright" form. Then he paused. Titty could tell he was remembering the telegram about David.

"Yes, it must be difficult." Mr Benson said, and showed her the records to be played.

Somewhere between taking over the gramophone and the supper interval, Titty found that her mind had drifted from memories of dancing with David at the wedding to that last waltz with Dick. She had really begun to think then that Dick did care about her as more than a friend. Did he dance with Peggy? Roger had said he thought Dick was somewhere in the Home Counties, which could be a lot of places, but might not be too far from London. So far as Titty could remember, Peggy had danced reasonably well. Of course those Amazons did excel at so many things. By the supper interval, Titty had very little appetite, which was perhaps just as well.

Somehow, she didn't seem able to avoid hearing Lucy Steele's voice however many times she moved.

"Oh no, Father wouldn't dream of letting me join the Wrens or the ATS or anything like that. They must be completely on the shelf and absolutely desperate, so I ought to feel sorry for them, but really there must be something a little bit odd about them for them to be left in the first place."

Titty hastily took herself and her plate a few yards.

"Oh course, Father's going to see if he can find me at nice job in an office soon, before they start trying to boss people about and send girls to work in factories. I always think there's something not very nice about girls who don't mind getting messy, don't you? And of course, my parents would only let me work with nice girls, not the kind of girls who work in factories or film studios who probably don't have any moral standards."

Was she imagining it or was the last bit a little bit louder? Titty moved again, going to the other side of the room to adjust a paper streamer or two.

"I suppose that the he must have joined the navy to get away from his family. I can't see why else he would want to. Maybe her parents just can't stand each other."

Another move. Lucy seemed to be speaking to some older person. Perhaps it all was just a coincidence.

"….her mother's Australian. I expect the grandparents or great-grandparents were criminally insane or something…"

Move again.

"…Immoral goings on at film studios…."

".. just showing off, all this joining up. Why should we care who gets invaded? They probably brought it on themselves. They're just foreigners anyway."

Move again. Be busy. Tidy things up a bit on the buffet table. Some of the plates were empty. Titty put them in a neat pile on one corner.

An older lady. Titty thought she recognised her as one of the neighbours a few doors along, on the opposite side of the street. Someone who didn't go out much, Titty thought.

"Oh, you are being such a help, my dear. Miss Walker isn't it? I'm Mrs Stokes. I see you going off on your bicycle each morning. You must be working so hard. I saw that you had a telegram a couple of weeks ago and I did worry for you. Was it someone in your family my dear?"

"A friend. On _HMS Exmouth_. He was a very good friend of my brother's. They'd been together as midshipmen and then on Exmouth but when war was declared my brother was one of the people they moved to another ship."

"Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. Although I'm very glad, of course, that your brother _was_ moved. These are such sad times we live in, but we all just have to cope as best we can. It must be terrible for his poor mother too. And his father, of course."

Lucy decided to give it one last try. She sidled up to Titty and said very quietly so no-one else could here, "I bet his parents don't mind a bit. I bet they're glad to be rid of him."

"You are the most nasty-minded person I have ever met." said Titty quietly and watched her own right hand pick up the bowl that had once contained the pickled beetroot and place it carefully over Lucy's carefully set hair.

* * *

Of course, Lucy had screamed; of course, everyone had turned and looked; of course, Titty apologised; of course, she offered to pay for Lucy's hair to be shampooed and set again; of course, Lucy protested loudly that she had just been asking Titty how she had liked the party; of course, Titty repeated the last few things that Lucy had said and found that the strange calm she had felt was deserving her. Mr Steele had blustered and said of course his daughter would never say anything like that. Titty was a liar, and how dare she imply that Lucy would ever lie. Titty had better pay for a new dress as well. Titty couldn't see a single speck of beetroot juice on the dress, although a smudge of red lipstick was visible on the pale pink fabric and would take a lot of getting off. She was too proud to argue about that.

Mr Benson walked her home, leaving Mr and Mrs Steele talking to Mrs Benson. As they left the hall, Titty heard someone restart the gramophone.

"I can't really say I feel safe with her around." said Lucy, and then later more quietly to Doris, "She can't bear anyone else having any attention, of course. She wouldn't even let Roger come over to see me yesterday and he said that she would create all sorts of problems if we carried on writing."

"How did he say that if you didn't see him?" Doris asked, rather disagreeably Lucy thought.

"Oh, a note." said Lucy hastily. She was feeling a little uneasy now.

"I think I'd better go home now." said Doris. And she did.

* * *

Mr Benson made Titty a cup of tea before he went back to fetch Mrs Benson. It was almost, Titty thought, as if he thought Titty was the one who had had a shattering experience, instead of being at fault. Titty sat in her bedroom with her eiderdown round her shoulders, sipping the tea and wondering what Mother would say when she found out and whether she would tell Father and whether the hairdresser would be able to get the beetroot pink out of Lucy's blonde hair in one wash.

Eventually she heard voice downstairs and then Mrs Benson came and knocked on her door.

"I'm very so sorry." Titty said.

"You don't have to apologise to us." said Mrs Benson. She sat down on the edge of Titty's bed and squared her shoulders slightly, as one going to get difficult task over with.

"If it was up to us, Mr Benson and myself, we're quite happy to have you here just as long as you want to stay. But the Steeles are neighbours, and they have a way of making things very difficult indeed if they choose. And, well, they've made it quite plain that they'd like you to leave us as soon as possible. We said that you should have until the end of next week at the very least and a fortnight if you hadn't found anywhere. We'll help you move your things of course, and if you need a reference I'll give you a good one."

Titty nodded dumbly.

"Mr Benson brought back the money from the tin and gave Mr Steele the money for the dress and the hair, right there in front of people, so don't you worry about that."

Titty nodded again. "I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway. Mother will be so upset when she finds out."

"She was twenty once, too." said Mrs Benson.

**Another author's note:**

Simon C, or indeed anyone else who has read the Wimsey books, have you guessed how Mr Steele can have such an influence on the Bensons yet?


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"It won't be as nice as where you are." Gladys had said doubtfully when she gave the address to Titty. "And you'll be cooking for yourself."

Gladys was right. Beggars can't be choosers, Titty told herself. She had a bedroom. She had one of the small cupboards in the kitchen to keep her food in. The little gas cooker was like the one her mother had had in Shotley. She had to do her own cooking, but she didn't mind that. Baths had to be paid for separately. Titty had the back bedroom, next to the bathroom. Rita, the smartly-dressed lodger in the front bedroom seemed friendly enough and even invited Titty into her bedroom for a cup of tea the day Titty moved in.

"You'll have to bring your own milk though." Rita said. "I never seem to have any. Or cigarettes either. I don't suppose….."

"I'm sorry, I don't smoke." Titty said.

"Just my luck." Rita said.

At first, it didn't seem so bad. Titty's new lodging was nearer the studios and it took barely ten minutes to get there on her bicycle. No-one was anxiously awaiting her return, feeling sure that she had met with some accident in the black-out. No-one was trying to keep her entertained with a round of knitting evenings and visits. The landlady never seems to go out but spent most of the time in her room, in the front downstairs. Rita only worked in the evenings so she was just leaving for work as Titty returned.

At some point since the house had been built and the present, part of the back bedroom had been separated off to form the bathroom. This had left Titty's room with a large window for its size. Titty found that the bleak, clear, winter light suited her mood. Some previous tenant had fixed a sturdy piece of wood across the alcove between the narrow chimney breast and the wall with the window to act as a desk. Presumably the same previous tenant had left the empty tea chest, slightly damaged in the even smaller alcove between the chimney breast and the door. That first Saturday afternoon, Titty cycled out into the country and filled the basket of her bicycle with as many fallen twigs and branches as she could find. It took a long time to find enough to fill the basket, but it would eke out the small amount of coal she had been able to buy. Coal seemed to be very much more expensive in small quantities.

The next day, Titty had sat at the desk and drew more than she had in weeks. Sketches, mostly of figures, all in pencil, filled in both sides of three sheets of paper. They crowded in on each other, mostly faceless and short of details. Figures stood on cliff tops watched the sails of departing ships disconsolately. Lovers embraced. Friends sat shoulder to shoulder on a wall, looking at who-knows-what. A man rowed a boat frantically, the effort he was exerting shown in the lines of his arms and back. Small children with blanks for faces ran down a hill, arms eagerly outstretched. Stripily painted figures were concealed in the shadows of a strange-treed forest.

On Monday she threw herself back into work and by Tuesday she was telling herself it was perhaps a change for the better in some ways. Certainly she felt less as if she was still a schoolgirl. Titty supposed she had better write and tell her family, Iris and Dot where she had moved to. Mrs Benson had promised to forward any letters. Mr Benson – always a man of such few words he could rival Mr Dixon - had insisted on returning Titty's rent money for the previous fortnight as well as carrying her two suitcases to her new lodging. (And now truly Titty was a lodger rather than a boarder as she had been.) By his own standard, he had become positively loquacious.

"We'll miss you very much indeed." Mr Benson had said when Titty protested. "Mrs Benson was saying that we'll miss your company far more than the money. It's the least we can do. I don't expect we'll look for anyone else for a bit. It won't seem the same. Mrs Benson was saying it wouldn't be fair on someone have them about the house and wishing they were you. Maybe we should give up having anyone at all."

* * *

Mother and Daddy would want to know why Titty had had to move. Titty knew Mother would be upset that Titty had behaved so badly with the beetroot bowl. Titty thought that she would feel better for telling Mother all about it. Mother would want to know why Titty had done it and Titty shrank from repeating the things Lucy had said. Daddy would be disappointed in Titty's behaviour as well, but would want to know why the Bensons had asked Titty to leave at the behest of a neighbour. Titty did not know how to explain her absolute conviction that the Bensons really felt they had no other choice, however little she could guess at the reason.

Anyway, both her parents had more than enough to worry about without worrying about her. She was twenty-one next birthday. She was for all practical purposes grown-up already and living in a country that was at war. It was time she stopped being Titty whom other people worried about; it was time she stopped being Titty "who takes things badly". She had been glad to see Roger, of course, the day before the party, but she had wondered whether John or Nancy had suggested that he "go and see how Titty was coping". Perhaps she was being unfair. It might have simply been that Roger's own relief that John had no longer been serving on _HMS Exmouth_ had prompted a visit to his only sibling near enough to visit in a day.

_Dear Mother, _

_This letter is just to tell you that I have moved lodgings to some that are nearer the film studio. It is only ten minutes there by bicycle (and fifteen minutes back as it is uphill then.) This means that I can get there and back with it being twilight rather than properly dark. In a couple of months' time there will be no problem at all with the blackout. The other lodger is a few years older than me. She's called Rita and is very friendly and pleasant. We both share a kitchen with the landlady and cook for ourselves. The gas cooker is exactly like the one in the scullery at Shotley – do you remember it?_

_I shall miss the Bensons kindness of course, as well as Mrs Benson's good cooking and Mr Benson's piano playing. Mr Benson insisted on helping me carry my suitcases to my new lodgings, which are on the other side of the studios from the Bensons, so it was quite a long walk. They say they don't think they will take a lodger for a while._

_I need to write and give my new address to lots of other people, so I won't write more now. I hope you have got settled in Plymouth._

_With lots of love,_

_Titty_

* * *

Titty was rather alarmed to find herself growing so forgetful, during that first week. She had somehow bought and mislaid three boxes of matches. She has thought she had more milk and sugar left than she had, she could not remember having used so much cheese in her sandwiches. By Thursday she had decided that she was not that forgetful. On Thursday she took the matches to work with her. They did not disappear from her bag. On Friday morning, she hid the remaining sugar at the back of the shelf in her wardrobe. There seemed to be the same amount there at the end of the day. On Friday evening she devised a way of suspending the milk bottle from beneath the windowsill, but brought the milk in before she went to bed. It would not help her if it froze and then cracked the bottle. On Monday evening she found that there was a lot less sugar, although the milk was still there.

"I don't know which of them it is." Titty explained to Mr Mortimer as they stopped for a tea break on Wednesday and waited for the leading man of "_High Seas_" to emerge from the dressing room.

"Have you tried locking the door?" he asked.

"I did yesterday. And honestly, I'm not _sure_ that any sugar did go."

"Missed anything else?"

"I take my purse with me when I go out."

"Might be an idea to take your ration book as well."

"I usually do. Just in case I find something that's not easy to find and want to grab the chance."

He laughed. "An old head on young shoulders."

"Daddy always says "Grab a chance and you won't be sorry for a might-have-been" so it isn't really _my_ old head so to speak. And it's the sort of thing my sister Susan would think of, so it's probably rubbed off so to speak."

"And may I ask what Daddy does for a living?"

"He's in the Navy."

"And before the war?"

"In the Navy – since just before the last war in fact."

"He must be fairly senior then, by now."

"A captain."

Mr Mortimer took another sip of tea and said, "Look here. Breakfast is breakfast – and I don't see anyone giving you time to do more than scoff a sandwich at lunchtime here. But if you'd like to come round and have your meal with me in the evening, and keep some of the food at my place… I'm not so far from where you lodge now and I can at least promise not to steal your food, even if the cooking might be a bit basic when it's my turn."

Titty considered for a minute. She wasn't Susan, but she knew enough not to look a complete duffer.

"Yes please." she said. "Think I'd like that. It's very kind of you."

He laughed again. "The kindness may well be mostly on your part. You're good company, Tia Walker, and cooking for one palls, sometimes, after the first ten years or so."

* * *

…_I wouldn't worry about it, darling. At least you got to see your aunt. Roger went to see Titty the day before and said she seemed fine. He's still loves flying. Typical Roger fashion – do the thing differently from everyone else and then do it rather well. No, of course Roger didn't say he was doing well. Even Roger isn't that cocky! I had a letter from Jan, who had met his instructor on a visit to the Wimseys who have move to Hertfordshire for the duration. Oxford is the connection apparently. Jan and Anna are still category C, Jan says. I'm not quite sure what that is but, no-one seems rushing to intern them anyway._

_I did have a letter from Dick – the gist of which was he was glad I was still alive and that he was quite busy at work. No return address. _

* * *

The problem with a Valentine's message was that it could be _too_ anonymous, Dick decided. Titty might not have even associated the Sir Philip Sidney poem with him. Poetry was not his usual reading matter, after all, but he had found the book abandoned by Dorothea in the drawing room at home, that last Christmas of peace, and had copied out the poem.

This time he would send it in such a way that there were only a few people who would know how to write or read it. She would know it was from him, and know too that he had sent the same poem last year. She could either respond, or, if she so chose, discretely ignore it. Either way, there was no room for misunderstanding. Only 8 people would remember those messages from a mumps- ridden Nancy. Only one of them could send this poem.

My true-love hath my heart and I have his,  
By just exchange one for the other given:  
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;  
There never was a bargain better driven.  
His heart in me keeps me and him in one;  
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:  
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;  
I cherish his because in me it bides.  
His heart his wound received from my sight;  
My heart was wounded with his wounded heart;  
For as from me on him his hurt did light,  
So still, methought, in me his hurt did smart:  
Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss,  
My true love hath my heart and I have his.

* * *

She had drawn the little pencil sketch of two Great Northern Divers swimming in front of a little promontory that looked very like the lookout point on Wildcat Island before she changed her mind about sending it. Dick was not the sort of person to be flattered or pleased by unrequited love. It would hurt him to cause her pain, however unintentionally. She would spare him that.

* * *

"So, Tia. Daddy is in the Navy. What does your sister do? You speak of her as if she's older than you."

"Susan's older – she's a nurse. She's working in Gosport at the moment."

His eyebrow twitched slightly. "The Royal Navy runs in the family then as it were?"

She swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes before replying, "I could say yes – John is a lieutenant, or no, because Roger is training to be a pilot in the RAF"

"And who are John and Roger?"

"My brothers."

"Two boys and two girls? How symmetrical"

"Well, not really, because I have another sister."

"And what does she do? No – don't tell me – a Wren!"

Titty laughed. "No, that's my sister- in-law and _her_ sister."

"Rushing around the admiralty with pieces of paper bossing the men who think they run the Navy?"

"They are both in London at the moment – and Nancy tends to end up running things – but maybe not yet. Have you got any brothers or sisters?"

"A brother. He moved to Southern Rhodesia quite a long time ago."

Titty recognised finality when she heard it. Had there been a family falling out? Did Mr Mortimer simply miss his brother?

"So what does your sister do?"

"Her schoolwork – I hope, although I wouldn't rely on it if anything more exciting happened. She's like Roger – doesn't mind a row."

"And the rest of you do?"

Titty considered for a moment and then nodded.

"That doesn't mean that John and Susan give up easily, though, or anything." She qualified her assent.

She had washed up as much as she could while she cooked. There was very little washing up. She washed, he dried and put things away.

"I'll walk you home."

" Thank you, but there's no need really; I've got my bicycle."

"And you haven't run into anything in the dark yet?"

Titty grinned. "A heap of sand. No harm done."

"Well, don't continue to push your luck. I'd prefer it if nothing happened to you, you know."

It wasn't that far to walk. She had really only brought the bicycle because she did not feel entirely happy walking back that late by herself. Dorothea had mentioned that no-one at Oxford had had any trouble while riding a bicycle.

_And Shrewsbury isn't quite as "girls' school-ish" as they are at Somerville, but if anyone had been they would have been advising us to go about in pairs I'm sure. _

"It was very kind of you." Titty said as she chained up her bicycle. "I just hope you get home again before it starts to rain." She added as she straightened up.

Mr Mortimer kissed her gently on one cheek.

"Good-night, Tia." He smiled at her surprise. "It's the 14th. You deserve at least one kiss. I do, too, for that matter." He added and he turned to go.

After a few paces, he turned round again.

"Same time tomorrow?"

"Yes, Yes of course." she said.

* * *

"Lucy Steele!"

Mrs Stokes. What did she want? Lucy sighed as she crossed the street.

Mrs Stokes' face was pinched with pain and she seemed breathless.

"Lucy, I promised I'd put these in the post box for Mrs Benson, but I'm not sure I can get up the hill now. You've got young legs. Would you be so kind as to do it?"

"Yes, but shouldn't you be sitting down or something." Mrs Stokes really didn't look well. Her face was pinched with pain and she looked rather grey.

"I'll go and sit in Puffitt's for a bit before I try to walk home." Puffitt's was the rather old-fashioned haberdasher's where to one sat in a chair next to the counter to buy even the smallest thing. Lucy felt anxious enough to shepherd Mrs Stokes to the door of the shop before she continued to the post box.

Lucy posted three letters in the box one by one. Two were addresses in Mrs Benson's hand-writing. One was addressed to Miss T Walker and the redirection in Mrs Benson's writing. That one slipped through Lucy's fingers into the box before her brain had time to register it. It was only a letter though. Lucy looked down at the last letter. It was another one readdressed to Tertia, but she could feel it was there was a card inside, not a letter.

It was so unfair. Why should Tertia Walker get a Valentine's card, and she, Lucy who would never dream of upending a bowl of beetroot on anyone's head have been disappointed this morning and, more to the point, yesterday morning? Lucy slipped it into her own coat pocket without really thinking about it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Lucy had thought it would be easy enough to steam open the envelope. After all, if it was just an ordinary letter, she could just put it in the post box tomorrow.

The stream made the paper wrinkle and didn't loosen the glue of the envelope quite as much as she had thought it would. The ink was beginning to run slightly. She heard her mother's key in the door, pushed the envelope back in her pocket and went upstairs to her bedroom, leaving the pan with the handkerchiefs boiling in the clean soapy scented kitchen.

After all that effort, it wasn't a Valentine's card at all. The piece of white card had silvery edges on three sides, but the fourth was plain and sharp – as though cut with a knife or scissors. On one side was a pair of intertwined hearts in the same silvery ink. Lucy thought perhaps it had once been the front flap of a wedding invitation. On the other side were some little stick figures – rows and rows of them. Lucy shoved it back in the envelope in disgust, ripping the envelope slightly. She wouldn't be able to make it look as if it had never been opened. If someone had been playing an annoying trick on Tertia it was a pity for it not to work, but it might be safer for Lucy just to dispose of the whole thing in the sitting-room fire.

* * *

_Dear Tia,_

_Perhaps you won't be very surprised to read that Leslie asked me to marry him. You will be even less surprised to hear that I said "yes"! _

_Of course, we came clean with each other long ago about how much encouragement we had both needed from you to show that we __were__ keen on each other. We both agreed that you would be the first to know, after our parents. In fact, this will be posted the same day as my letter to my parents, so I expect you will receive it at the same time as they receive theirs._

_Leslie doesn't know when he will come back from France, of course, but if all remains as "Phony" as it has been so far I expect he will get some leave in a couple of months. I will name the date as soon as possible anyhow. I think under the circumstances I can convince my Mother that a very small wedding would be best – although I have to admit a long dress would be topping._

_I would like it very much if you would be my bridesmaid._

_With love, _

_Iris_

* * *

_Dear Susan,_

_Yes, I survived my brutal training officer! Actually, she's more reasonable than some (to my immense surprise) – but still pushes us just as hard. It's just as well that she's a Walker and not a Blackett now – a lot of the other girls didn't make the connection until Agnes blurted out some comment about the resemblance. By that time it was obvious that she was as hard on me as anyone. I muttered that I "did believe there might be some family relationship" and it was more or less dropped._

_Anyway, I am, alas, sent to Dover tomorrow. Not that I mind Dover, but I had some vague hope of being nearer you. I've heard a few times from Dot since Christmas. She's finding the "not doing anything for the war" frustrating still. I've not heard from Titty since before Christmas, which is unlike her. I gather she's busy though – Nancy did have a brief letter and says she sent her love and was going to a party the so couldn't meet us in London. _

_Bridget is being a "proper little Walker" – by which I think Mother means like you and John, rather than like Roger. So you can stop worrying about that!_

_With love, Peggy_

* * *

They sat and talked while the potatoes were boiling and the rest of supper, whatever it was, was cooking. Titty told him about _Swallow _the summers on the lake and prospecting for gold and mapping the islands and creeks around the Secret Water.

"I've seen the place on maps, although I've never been there." he said. "It's called.."

"We knew, too. But please don't spoil it."

They had fallen into the habit of drinking tea and talking before he walked her back. Some evenings Titty didn't light the fire in her bedroom at all, scrambling into bed as soon as possible after she had arrived home.

Tonight, though, it was so cold and there was so little coal that she could not help shivering as they sat as close to the fire with their cups of tea as they could.

"We're going about this the wrong way, Tia." he exclaimed. He jumped to his feet to fiddle with something in the darkest corner of the room. The strains of a popular dance tune filled the room.

"May I have the pleasure?"

They danced rather quickly and no more than a few steps in each direction in the cluttered living room. They were both rather warmer by the time the tune finished for a second time and they sat down by the tiny fire to drink their tea.

"One more dance?" he asked.

"If you like."

He put a different tune on the gramophone. This one was a little slower and the words were more romantic. Did he hold her just a little closer than he had before? It was silly of her to feel so self-conscious. He was certainly not being disrespectful.

"Let's put our coats on and get walking while we're still warm." he suggested as the tune came to an end.

They walked the now familiar route briskly, despite the additional hazards of the black-out.

"Thank you very much for walking me home, Mr Mortimer, even though I still think there's no need."

"I do – and do you still have to keep calling me that? I've been calling you Tia for ages now. I'm not that much older than you."

"Everyone at the studio _does_ call me Tia. But I have to call you Mr Mortimer."

"Why on earth?"

"Because I don't know your other name."

"Call me Guy."

"Thank you for walking me home, Guy."

"That's better. I couldn't possibly keep kissing a girl who keeps calling me "Mr"."

And she felt his lips warm against hers for a second, before he said "Goodnight, Tia." and was gone.

Perhaps she should ask him politely not to do that. Just say something such as "I don't really like being kissed and I would prefer it if you didn't."

Perhaps it should be true. It wasn't.

* * *

"Doris!"

"Hello Lucy!"

"I haven't seen you for ages."

"I've been busy. Extra shifts and that. We get a few more people coming in for the occasional meal when their rations won't stretch."

"I'm getting a job too, as a clerical assistant. I start on Monday. The other girls seem really nice. Properly lady-like and nicely dressed."

"How nice for you."

"Doris?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think Tertia is some kind of spy or fifth columnist or something?"

"No."

That familiar hardness appeared in Lucy's eyes. Doris was not going to back down and agree with her this time.

"But there was something a bit strange about her. And then going so suddenly." Lucy persisted.

"I don't think there was anything mysterious her going suddenly at all." Doris met Lucy's gaze. The moment seemed interminable.

"If you've got any definite evidence you should go to the police." said Doris, "I don't think they would like to have their time wasted by someone who makes up stories to make themselves seem important."

"There's no need to be spiteful."

"Quite right, there _is_ no need for _either of us_ to be spiteful."

"I don't know why you're being so mean."

"Think of it as the end of appeasement. If you pick on anyone unfairly from now on, I'm going to stand up for them. That's all."

As she walked away, Doris didn't know whether she was more surprised at how shaky she felt or that she had actually said most of what she wanted to say and thought she wouldn't be able to.

* * *

"The others always wrote short letters. Titty always used to write proper ones." Bridget said.

"She'll be busy. I expect all sorts of people are leaving to join the army and she has to do more and more at work." Elspeth said. Her voice was somewhat muffled by the bedclothes. The night was cold.

Bridget smiled in the darkness of her own bed. Elspeth thought Titty just about perfect – although she would never admit as much outright.

"'night"

"''night"

It was cold, thought Bridget. If it snowed, would Mrs Blackett let them stay at home? She fell asleep still trying to work out how much snow would be required before there was a reasonable chance of a holiday from school.

* * *

Guy asked her so many questions about Nancy and Peggy and their work, that Titty was half expecting the next question would be "Why don't you join the Wrens?". But then, of course she hadn't asked him why he was still working in the far-from-essential role of publicity photographer. Titty didn't feel comfortable talking about Peggy and turned the conversation to other topics as often as she could. She wasn't even quite sure if her discomfort was caused by jealousy or her guilt over feeling jealous.

* * *

"Tia?"

Titty carefully backed out of a mediaeval hovel (three sides only).

"Yes?"

Jean was there, looking a little self-conscious.

"I wanted to tell you first – after my family of course. I'm joining the WAAF. I thought I ought to since the beginning of the war, but my parents said not to rush into things, and that it would look bad on references, leaving after a couple of months. They've agreed that I've waited long enough. Dad says thing will start happening, come the spring. This is my last week here. I've really enjoyed working with you Tia, you will keep in touch won't you, even if we end up too busy to write much?"

"Of course."

"I'll give you my address when I know where I am, but here's my home address. Anything sent there will always find me eventually – I can't see them ever moving."

Titty found a piece of scrap paper and scribbled the address of her current digs. She paused. Should she put down the address of the flat her mother had moved to? Titty supposed she should think of it as home, but she couldn't. Perhaps she would be able to after she had visited it. It was only taken for six months anyway. After a little further consideration, she put c/o Mrs Blackett, followed by the Beckfoot address. Jean looked at it.

"Your grandmother? An aunt?"

"Nancy and Peggy's mother – my brother's mother-in-law." Something in Jean's face made Titty add hastily, "It's alright – I've known her since I was nine and my younger sister lives there now."

Jean smiled, hoping Titty could not somehow tell there was a lump in her throat.

* * *

They both agreed the news about Finland sounded very disturbing. They left the radio on while washing up in the little scullery/ kitchen that was not even big enough for a table.

"A spot of Gilbert and Sullivan is cheerful enough anyway." Guy said.

Titty nodded assent – not trusting herself to speak. A few moments later Guy took the dishcloth gently out of her hands.

"What's the matter, Tia? Tell me – or no, don't. Have your cry and then tell me if you want to." He drew her gently back into the living room, sat down next to her on the sagging sofa and drew her into his arms.

Eventually, head turned a little to one side to avoid a mouthful of tweed jacket, Titty explained a little about David and his liking for Gilbert and Sullivan.

"And _HMS Pinafore_ was the only one I had seen." She finished, trying to wriggle herself more upright and fishing in her pocket for her handkerchief.

"Perhaps I had better switch it off?" Guy suggested.

Titty shook her head. "No – not unless you want to."

They sat and listened to it from the "three cheers more" to the end with Guy's arms around Titty, not saying very much. There was after all not very much to be said.

He walked her back as was their custom. The customary brief kiss was more lingering than brief. She still had not found the words or courage to ask him to stop. Tonight she realised that she had instead lost the inclination to make the request.

"My poor dear." was all he said before he strode off into the night.

Titty slept badly.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Detached was the word, Titty decided. She felt detached from herself. The person who stood there ready to replace everything on the set for another take _looked_ like Titty but wasn't really the able-seaman (and sometimes acting captain) of the _Swallow._ When Titty recounted their adventures to Guy, _Sea Bear_ had seemed as unreal to her as _Wildcat. _She hadn't actually mentioned that voyage to Crab Island, nor the hectic escape from the Three Islands. No-one else could be expected to understand after all, except the seven of them who had created the story, and perhaps Dick and Dorothea. But then, she had been very vague about the voyage among the Hebrides, too. She had kept completely quiet about the Divers and their nest and was glad, later, that she had done so. She was regretting, now, that she had mentioned the trip to the Baltic one rainy evening.

"So that must have been fun. Who else was there? Your brothers, of course?"

"Roger came with us, and my sister. And Mac and his children. They're both about my sister's age."

"This is Susan? The one who's nursing as Gosport?"

"Bridget – the one who's evacuated to the Lake District."

"To your sister-in-law's? Was your sister- in-law there?"

"No, Nancy wasn't with us." Titty didn't mention Peggy. She didn't feel comfortable speaking of Peggy. It wasn't as if Guy knew her or had asked about her after all.

"So it was just you and your brother and some kids -apart from this friend of your father's? I suppose he's in the navy as well?"

"Mac is a friend of the Blacketts – well, their uncle's friend really. He works in for a tea-importer."

"The Blacketts?"

"My sister-in-law's family."

"How's she getting on? And her sister?"

She really couldn't blame him. It was pretty decent of him really to take such an interest in the family and friends who were so important to her. How was he to know that her mind shied away from any mention of Peggy or Dick? Somehow this meant that she would prefer not to talk about Dorothea or Nancy either.

With Jean gone and not replaced, Titty found herself lonely at work and busier than ever. The little bedroom with its plank desk and tea-chest of firewood was simply somewhere she slept and got dressed during the week. On Saturday afternoon she rode out on her bicycle to collect sticks, if it wasn't wet, but more of those ended up in Guy's fireplace than her own. It seemed only fair, since she was spending most of her evenings there.

Sunday was the day for writing letters and drawing. She had never found writing letters difficult, and as a child had been surprised that John and Susan found it a chore. Now, she had less and less that seemed worth reporting in her letters. The letters she received became shorter too, except John's (which could hardly get any shorter) and her mother's, which were as cheerful and chatty as ever.

Her mind was full of might-have-beens (which caused just as much regret as she had always been told they would) and "never-would-be"s. She really should think of what was. Now, though, she had to plump up the cushions on the sofa, top up the glasses on the tray with cold tea and refold the newspaper.

Take umpteen. She has lost count of the number. They were running out of cold tea. She hoped the actors would get it right this time.

Guy still continued to walk her home every evening. Gradually, the usual goodbye kiss had changed it to a kiss that was not just goodbye; it had been joined by a kiss when she arrived at Guy's small bungalow. They had not danced again, but the next time she had shivered, while they were listening to the wireless, he had put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. He never asked her how she felt about him; he never told her how he felt about her. Sometimes this worried her; sometimes she felt relieved.

* * *

"Portraits largely." Guy had said, when Titty had asked him what he did when he was not taking publicity stills for the film studio. "It's portraits in uniform, mainly, at the moment. I used to do a lot more babies. Overall, I think I'm getting more work. I'm more worried about not being able to get hold of chemicals and film."

One Friday evening, Guy was still working when she arrived at the bungalow. Titty slipped into the kitchen as quietly as she could and started to peel potatoes. She had already discovered that even a simple portrait could take longer than expected. The young man in khaki was accompanied by his mother, who hovered anxiously behind Guy, bombarding her son with instructions, many of them contradictory. Titty found herself tense, waiting for the explosion from Guy. No-one at the studio had been half so irritating. Titty supposed that the mother was anxious. Eventually, instructions were overtaken by a cough, then another one and then a complete barrage of them. Titty filled a water glass and carried it into the living room, which was set up as a studio at one end. The woman grasped the water glass eagerly. Titty returned to the kitchen.

About five minutes later, there was a tentative knock in the kitchen door and the young man handed the glass back to Titty.

"Thank you very.."

"Harold! Come on here!" And then, still loud enough for Titty to hear, "You're not to go speaking to that kind of woman, Harold. Didn't you see she wasn't wearing a ring?"

It was another ten minutes and supper was nearly ready before Guy came into the kitchen.

"Hello."

"Hello."

"So you're angry with me because of what some Mrs Grundy says? Don't you think you are being unfair?"

"I'm sorry."

"Well, are you going to come here and give me a kiss then?"

Feeling rather shy, Titty did so. It was the first time she had kissed him, rather than the other way about.

"Now, Tia, do you think I could have a proper kiss?" and she found herself pulled, gently enough, into his arms.

It was more a series of kisses than a single kiss, and none of them was short. Titty at first felt awkward and guilty. After a bit she wasn't quite sure what she felt. Still guilty, yes, and breathless. (Well she wasn't getting much time to breathe between kisses, after all.) She remembered the intensity with which John and Nancy had kissed each other on the staircase in Portsmouth. Was this what they had felt? A little thought somewhere in her mind added "Was this_ all _they had felt_?" _

"I think supper's going to burn." She murmured apologetically.

Guy gave a short laugh. It sounded somehow unreal. "You are most definitely unique. We'll have to teach you some sense of romantic timing!" but he let go of her and helped her to dish up supper.

They sat as usual on the sofa, and talked about the work at the studio, while they drank their tea.

"I think," Guy said after a little, "that you are so terribly interested all of a sudden in the minutiae of costumes, because you are little bit worried that I am going to do this," he removed the mug from her hands and place it perilously on the shelf of the bookcase, "so that I can do this," he slid his left arm over her right shoulder and down her back, hand comfortably (and comfortingly) following the curve of her ribcage, " and maybe" (His voice was a barely audible murmur.) "this." His lips met hers.

"Now," he whispered close to her ear, some seconds later, "You're an honest girl, so I don't think you can tell me you didn't enjoy that."

"Yes, I mean no, oh dear, I can't make up my mind, I mean.."

"Let's try it again so you can decide."

Despite herself, Titty laughed, but put her hands on his shoulders, to keep his lips at least a little distance from hers.

"That's better. You've got a lovely laugh, Tia. It_ is _meant to be fun, this sort of thing. You deserve a little fun, you know."

"There are a lot of people who deserve fun more than I do."

"I bet some of them are wishing they seized the moment more than they did, right now." He stroked her hair. "Some of your friends are boys, but you haven't had a boyfriend before have you?"

"No." Somehow it felt like an admission, not a statement. "Have you?"

"Tia, I am surprised at you asking me that. It's illegal for one thing!" He was laughing though. "Yes, I know that wasn't quite what you meant."

There was a short pause, during which he drew her head down to rest on his shoulder. Titty got the impression Guy was thinking carefully. She would have felt happier if he had felt he could simply answer her question.

"Yes, Rosalind." he said eventually. "We were engaged, in fact. In the end, she decided she preferred my brother."

"Oh." However miserable Titty had felt about the thought of Dick and Peggy together, this must be a hundred times worse. And after all, neither Dick nor Peggy had any reason to think that Titty had cared for Dick as any more than a friend. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Nothing for _you _to be sorry about, my dear. It was a few years ago now."

"And I asked you about him – that must have been uncomfortable for you."

"You weren't to know." Guy stood up. "I'd better walk you home before I don't want to move at all."

He held out his arms to her, and this time she let herself be enfolded. She wrapped her own arms about him. Her hair was soft against his cheek. Tia had always had her own particular charm. Her unselfconscious goodness made up a considerable part of it, but the slim body and expressive eyes helped too. A sympathetic Tia was even sweeter. Rushing things and upsetting her would be a mistake.

"Let's get you home."

* * *

"They've found a new billet for you." Bowen said as Dick arrive in the laboratory.

"What was wrong with where we are?" Dick asked.

"Nothing," said Bowen gleefully.

Hardy had used, and not washed, all the measuring cylinders _again_. They did have a lab assistant, who was due to arrive in half an hour, but Dick wanted to get started now. He compromised and started to wash only what he need.

"Well, if there's nothing wrong why are we moving?"

"We aren't moving – you are. You and Hardy."

"Why? And why not you too?"

"Because your bedrooms are required for two lovely ladies from the ATS. Or perhaps they are FANYs. Or Wrens, or something. I'm not sure, and it doesn't much matter. Naturally, these young ladies can't be allowed to sleep unprotected in a tiny cottage with no indoor amenities. So you and Hardy will be in the cottage, last used by some unfortunate gamekeeper in about 1900 I should guess."

"Why aren't you moving to the cottage as well? And how can you not know which service they belong to?"

"Only two bedrooms are required, so I volunteered to stay and offer my protection to the lovely ladies, whom I haven't yet met, and of course to Mrs Robertson and her excellent breakfasts."

"How do you know they're lovely then?"

"Bound to be. Most girls are."

"Sounds as if you should be in the cottage."

"Ah, but you told me about staying in that stone hut in the Lake district once. And I expect the lovely ladies would be wasted on Hardy."

"My sister did all the house-keeping." said Dick gloomily. It wouldn't have been Bowen's decision anyway, of course. Interesting that Bowen seemed to have come to the same conclusion about Hardy though.

"You'll have to come round and meet them."

"Who?"

"The lovely ladies, of course. Forget about her. She can't be that wonderful, this nameless paragon of yours."

"She is though. You just want me to keep the friend occupied in polite conversation while you take the pretty one outside to look at the Moon or something."

"That too." Bowen said.


	14. Chapter 14

_With many thanks to Jenn Calaelen for her kind comments._

**Chapter 14**

It had seemed to Titty that the long, dark winter nights were going to last for ever. She had been so immersed in her daily routine with its sprinkling of small crises that spring was somehow sneaking up on her. Suddenly she was leaving and arriving at work in full daylight. She wondered whether Jean's father was right and "things would start to happen in spring". Easter was approaching. She had been invited to Beckfoot; she had been invited to go and stay in London with the Callums and Mother was hoping she would come to Plymouth. Titty chose Plymouth. However much she wanted to see the Lake and Bridget and the newly repaired _Swallow, _Mother came first. She didn't consider London for a minute. An encounter with Dick, or worse yet with Dick and Peggy together would be too painful.

Somehow it had seemed easier not to tell Mother about much about Guy. Titty had mentioned that she often cooked meals together with a friend from the studios and left it at that. She was only there in the little flat for two nights after all. It was as odd to see familiar things in a new setting as it always was. Susan was there on the Saturday night. On the Sunday it was just Mother and Titty. Mother let the cheerful face slip, just a little.

"To think that twenty years ago – well, a little more I suppose – I thought I couldn't be more worried." She said as they sat with their cups of tea after supper. "I worried about your father of course and I worried about John – but only to wonder what he was going to grab and pull over on himself next. He was a most un-distractible baby. Everyone told me "You just have to wave a toy in front of him and he'll grab that instead." It never worked on any of you. And now you and Bridget are the only people I'm _not_ worrying about."

It seemed so unfair to say anything to bother Mother after that.

"A hospital ship should be pretty safe surely." Titty said, as encouragingly as she could.

Mother began to sigh and hastily supressed it.

"I know."

* * *

"I missed you." said Guy on the Tuesday evening between kisses, and when his hand slipped between sweater and skirt she stiffen slightly but did not protest, and he did not move his hand any further.

* * *

_Dear Dot,_

_You've nothing to apologise for. Apart from John and Mother, you are easily my best correspondent. Peggy used to be pretty good when she worked at the post-office. Like you, I've not heard from Titty for a bit – just a short note and a couple of postcards since Christmas._

_Bridget has written a couple of times to assure me that she has not let the "baby Macs" touch Scarab or Amazon – although Mother says she has been dropping hints about what fun racing would be when she "has taught the other three properly". So expect a letter begging the use of Scarab in a couple of months' time. Mother says their friend Alf has got his head screwed on properly and Elspeth seems alright. It's Colin I'm a bit dubious about. More than a bit._

_Best of luck in your finals – and what do you mean you don't know about after? Barbequed Billygoats – I would have thought it was obvious we're miles better than the WAAF or the ATS!_

_Nancy_

* * *

They had been to see _Labour of Love _and agreed the publicity photographs and the props were rather better than the story. The cinema was the cinema, but an invitation to the theatre was rather different and Titty thought that her last remaining pair of best stockings might be appropriate.

They were gone. Titty's fingers found that the carefully hidden emergency ten shilling note was still there. Except it wasn't the same note. She fished it out of its hiding place into the light for a closer look. The old reddish brown note had been replaced by one of the new mauve ones with the metal strip. She sat down on the edge of her bed to think.

There was no way that the stockings would be a suitable size for the landlady. So, if the landlady had taken them, it would be to give or sell to someone else. Someone who did that would be more likely to take the note – but would be unlikely to replace it. Rita, though she was a little shorter then Titty, was not too dissimilar in size. Perhaps Rita did see her behaviour as simply borrowing. Borrowing without permission, true, and in the case of the sugar, without any offer to return it – but perhaps the intention to borrow rather than steal had always been there. Titty hadn't asked to borrow anything from Rita after all. What would the response have been? That was something to consider for another time. Now, she should see if she could retrieve Susan's present.

She went out on to the tiny landing at the head of the stairs.

"Rita?"

"Um hum?"

"Have you seen my stockings? The best ones my sister gave me at Christmas?"

"Have you tried the kitchen? I'm sure I saw them on the airer. "

"Thanks" Why had she said that?

Titty went to the kitchen, unwrapped the cords and lowered the clothes airer from its position near the ceiling. There was a pair of fine stockings on one end. As far as she could tell, they were the same as the ones she had seen only in the packet, but with a small, inexpert repair near the top of one. She would still be in good time if she got a move on.

* * *

It did feel rather nice, Titty thought, to be looked after and waited on and have things done for her. Some girls took it for granted, perhaps, but after life at the studio with its perpetual calls to fetch, carry and do a myriad of tasks which really had nothing to do with scenery or props, Titty really appreciated it.

It was Saturday, so time didn't matter that much after all when Guy suggested they go for a drink after the performance. It had not been a long show and they had time for more than one, before they caught the last bus.

"Cup of tea?" Guy asked her as they alighted from the 'bus.

"Yes, please." She replied and they walked along to his bungalow, passing the end of the street in which she lodged. Guy had offered her his arm from the theatre to the bus stop, but now walked with his arm around her waist. She tried putting her arm about his waist, and found it easier than have her arm between them, getting the way. She had already nearly tripped them both up before she realised that, no matter what side of the street they were walking on, he expected her to be on his left-hand side.

"You do look very pretty tonight," he said, "I'm rather flattered you think I merit your glad rags."

Titty told him the story of the stockings, and told him again how grateful she was to him for suggesting the arrangement with shared food and meals.

"It gives me the pleasure of your company." He replied, unlocking the door and pushing it open. "And," he added, closing the door behind him, "you are very lovely."

It was even darker inside than outside but Guy's lips still managed to find her mouth, her face, her neck and his hands were around her waist, stroking her back, entangled in her hair.

"We could," he said, "waste time actually boiling a kettle and making a pot of tea, or we could simply open the bottle of sherry an elderly cousin of my grandfather gave me for Christmas and I've been saving for some occasion. This one seems special enough. I don't think the fire has gone out, completely."

It hadn't and Titty made no demur at being pulled down next to him on the sofa. The spring night had grown chilly, but she felt pleasantly warm inside and didn't think it was entirely the sherry. Maybe it _was_ her turn to stop worrying and just enjoy things, if only just for this evening. Surely, (she thought fleetingly of the fiancée who had "preferred his brother") Guy too deserved a little happiness. The kisses and caresses were more comfortable than thinking and worrying. It was two o'clock before the final goodbye kiss outside Titty's door and she slept long into the next morning.

* * *

Jean's father was right. Titty thought on the next Tuesday. Things were happening in the spring. She wondered if John was somewhere in the waters around Norway.

* * *

The cottage had two rooms and an attic (and the necessary outhouse).

Hardy went up the ladder to the little attic first, came down it again and announced. "I say Callum, your room's got quite a decent view."

"Why isn't it yours then?"

"It's full of things that tweet."

Dick went cautiously up the ladder. He would prefer not to startle whatever residents were there. After a while, he decided that the birds were so full of their own affairs that they would all but disregard his presence. Evidence on the floor suggested that a few forays had been made into the attic, and the iron bedstead had evidently been tried as a perch. The sparrows had been less than impressed with it. The degree of mess might have horrified Susan, or even Dorothea. Dick felt it would be entirely manageable. If his roommates did become intrusive, he could hang a sheet from the timbers that supported the thatch between the end with the bedstead and the disputed nesting-site. The birds would perceive it as a solid barrier, most probably.

Dick turned to examine his end of the long narrow attic. The window, east-facing, started at floor-level and reached a little higher than his knees. It would be easy enough to fix a blackout to the frame, and cleaning the glass and cutting away the ivy a little would double the amount of light let in. He was not entirely sure that the thatch was either water or light proof, but if they found out otherwise they could fix it. There was a hook – presumably for a candle lantern, another few hooks that were probably intend for clothes and stool that had once been a chair with a wooden back – once broken and sawn off. The back still lay in the corner. With a bit of effort, Dick thought he could probably fix it so it could be used as a towel rail.

"It's pretty much perfect." He announce to Bowen and Hardy, who were poking dubiously at the innards of the smallish, late-Victorian range.

* * *

"It won't be long now. They'll extend conscription much faster now things are happening. I just hope a few of my customers remember me afterwards."

"Didn't you want to anyway?"

"Perhaps. But I've worked so hard to build up the business. Every extra month I keep at it may make it easier to get going again afterwards."

* * *

The news. Narvik, the Faroe Islands. Quisling. Titty tried to picture Copenhagen, occupied. German troops were walking around the Tivoli, looking at the Little Mermaid, perhaps eating in the cheerful little café where she and Dick and Dot and Roger had eaten and danced. What was it like to look out of the window at night and see soldiers in the uniform of another country patrolling the streets you had grown-up in?

"I'm going to join the Wrens when I'm twenty-one, whatever Mother says."

Guy smiled at her. "You're too brave to run your life just to suit your parents."

* * *

"You are so lovely. I missed you so much."

"Oh, Guy, you walked me home less than twenty hours ago!"

"You see what I mean? That's ages."

She couldn't help laughing.

He couldn't help kissing her.

She couldn't find the will to protest his caresses as if she meant it.

He always gave in, eventually, to her insistence that they stop _there_.

She gave in a little – _there _was just a little further every day.

He kept tell her that she thought too much of what other people thought.

She kept telling him it wasn't that.

What was it then? He kept asking.

She kept trying to find the words to tell him, scared of hurting his feelings.

You just think you think that, he kept telling her.

* * *

Work was a scurry of fetch and carry and doing two jobs at once. One day Gladys's neighbour came, telegram in hand. She ushered Gladys away, as one might shepherd a sleepwalker.

* * *

"I don't want it to be too late." Guy said, Titty's face between his hands. "I don't want it to be something we always regret. Thinking we had a chance and we didn't grab it."

She wasn't in love with him. Perhaps she loved him. She liked him and was fond of him. He had been so badly let down and hurt before. He was going to get called up and fight, and maybe not come back, and maybe come back injured, and certainly come back changed.

Maybe Guy was right. Was she being muddle-headed, naïve, too-imaginative?

One Saturday night she did not insist on stopping there, did not insist on going home. She had given up on resistance.

* * *

"I've got to go to London to see someone." Guy said the next morning, when he woke up. She had woken earlier, but not dared to move for fear of waking him. "Put the kettle on will you, Tia, there's a good girl."

And she made a pot of tea and some porridge, in between scrambling into yesterday's clothes. There was not very much porridge and she had given him most of it, which was just as well, because as soon as he had finished he gathered up coat and hat ushered them both out of the door.

"I'm not sure how late I'll be back. I'll see you tomorrow though?" Guy said as he locked the door behind them both. "Don't look so tragic. It doesn't suit you." And his tone was as light as kiss as he strode off in the direction of the station.

Rita and the landlady were still not stirring when Titty let herself in. She ran herself a cold bath. It did not help much. Her body's discomfort did not matter as much as the empty feeling inside. Was it meant to feel like this? She wished there was someone to ask. Impossible, ever, to ask Mother. So few of her friends were married. Nancy was the only one.

She could not imagine Nancy being horrified, shocked or coldly disapproving. Nancy and John had, after all, faced the gossip around the Lake when they had turned up at Beckfoot together with a tiny baby. Even Mrs Blackett had thought for a short while that little David might be their own. Should Titty go and see Nancy and talk to her? Would Nancy feel she had to tell John? She couldn't possibly ask Nancy anything, Titty realised. Talking about this to a friend would be terribly awkward. Talking about this to her sister-in-law would be impossibly, excruciatingly intrusive and embarrassing.

Her head ached. Had she drunk more than usual because she had decided to give up? Or had she decided to give up because she had drunk more than usual? Or was it simply that Guy had refilled her glass more frequently? She had made her decision and could not go back on it now. However off-hand he had seemed this morning, it would be too unkind to Guy to tell him she had mistaken her own feelings, and could they please go back to being friends.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N : A couple of Sayers mentions_

**Chapter 15**

Titty would have said that Peggy Blackett was one of the last people she would care to see at the moment, but she felt her spirits lifting anyway when she saw who the visitor waiting for her at the gate was. The motorcycle was less expected.

"You weren't too far off my way back." Peggy said cheerfully, "and I need something to eat, so I thought it may as well be with you."

"I don't really get a lunch-break." Titty said cautiously. "Just eat my sandwiches when I can."

"But you're entitled to one. And there isn't any shooting going on today, I already asked. And if you don't normally take your lunch-break, that just means they've got less reason to complain if you do. I bet you arrive a bit early and finish a bit late to try to get everything done."

"Mostly." Titty admitted.

Peggy muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "typical for a Walker" before saying, "Hop on and tell me where we can find some lunch. I'm treating you."

Titty looked a bit dubiously at the bike and Peggy, and back at the rest of the studio.

"Oh, come on, Titty, I was up at dawn and I'm hungry now. I'm not that tired that I'm unsafe either!"

Titty scrambled on behind Peggy.

"Keep your feet away from the chain and tell me where we're going." Peggy said.

* * *

Doris thought the lady in the Wrens uniform who came into the café with Tertia looked lovely. She looked straight at Doris when she gave her order and smiled, which not everybody bothered to do. The rich brown hair waved naturally and had been tumbled about by the wind, her finger nails were short and unpolished and if she had been wearing any lipstick it had mostly vanished by now. Anyone could see that this lady, Peggy, was really beautiful. Lucy just looked as if she thought she was. Doris wondered how old you had to be to join the WRNS.

Mrs Smith, the manageress of the cafe, ran a tight ship, everyone said. Amongst other things, that meant that Doris's place, when not actually serving customers, was to stand next to the serving hatch with her back to the wall, watching carefully to see when a customer was ready to order or to pay the bill. Doris really could not help over hearing a little of what was said. Mrs Smith had said this was inevitable, but didn't matter as long as Doris didn't repeat anything. Doris thought she might the only person who knew that the thin worried lady who kept and sold the chickens and the Polish gentleman with the melancholy air were thinking of getting married. Doris thought it rather sweet, although they were both as old as her parents. She hadn't seen them in the café for a while.

"….. I was sorry I didn't see you then." Peggy was telling Tertia.

"Nancy did explain that you were meeting someone else."

"Yes." Both young ladies were fidgeting slightly with their cutlery. Doris thought Peggy did not look as if she was usually the worrying sort.

"Well, I didn't tell Nancy who I was meeting, because I didn't want her interfering, or deciding to come along too, or something." Peggy continued. "You see, I wasn't sure if it was just meeting someone for tea – like – well like this, if was tea-time instead of dinner," (Now why had she said dinner and not lunch? Doris wondered. Tertia looked as white as a sheet. Doris hoped their order was ready soon. Customers fainting from hunger would not be good publicity for the café.) "or whether it was, well, a date."

There was a pause.

"The thing is - I'm still not sure." Peggy confessed, softly. "I do want to tell somebody. You won't tell anyone else will you? Nancy is so convinced she's got to be in charge all the time. If she thought I was bothered, I could just see her asking him what he means by it. If he did mean something by it, that would be dreadful, and if it was just friendliness, well, that would be worse."

Titty nodded. She didn't quite trust herself to speak.

"You haven't asked me who yet."

"Who?" Titty asked. Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak.

"Jim Brading. He wrote a thank you after the wedding – one to me I mean, separately, not just the one to Mother. And I sent him a postcard of the Lake and we just carried on writing after that. And then he was in London and said could we meet for tea, and so we did, and talked and talked and then, of course, he had to go and join his ship and we kept on writing – and I still don't know. I think I_ could_ care about him a great deal, but I try not to think about him too much like that, in case he just thinks of me a sort of penfriend."

Titty felt a lump in her throat and a prickling in her eyes. Doris brought their food. Titty thought she had her expression under control by the time Peggy was ready to start talking again.

"He was grown-up when we were still kids. I don't know how old he is exactly."

Titty answered the unspoken question.

"He was waiting to go up to Oxford when we met him. So I suppose he would have been eighteen then."

"I was twelve that summer." said Peggy thoughtfully. "And a bit."

"Father is five years older than Mother." Titty said.

Peggy smiled.

* * *

Peggy Blackett to Susan Walker:

_So I thought I may as well call in at the studio and see if I could see Titty, since it was so close to dinnertime. She looked what Nurse used to call "drawn". Titty seems to be working her socks off at that place, but I didn't notice anyone else working half as hard. She might just be worrying about the war of course._

* * *

She had no real right to feel as relieved as she did. She had enjoyed seeing Peggy. She had enjoyed hearing about Mrs Dixon's determination to send Mrs Callum a goose and Professor Callum's fear that he might be called upon to wring its neck.

"I remember thinking at the time that goose couldn't have given me much more trouble if had been a live one – although I dare say that isn't true really." Peggy had said.

Just because Dick didn't seem to care particularly for Peggy, it didn't mean that he would care for Titty. And even if he did, it would be so horribly unfair on Guy, who had been let down so badly once before.

She left work a little bit later – even with no shooting going on she somehow had plenty to do. Guy had clearly been home for some time when she arrived at his bungalow.

"How did your trip to London go?"

"Quite well." He replied. "I was expecting you to bring a few overnight things."

"I didn't think… I didn't want to presume. I wasn't sure." It was true enough, but not the whole of the truth.

He cupped one hand under her chin. "You'll get better at it, you know."

Titty thought he probably meant it to be comforting.

He laughed softly. "I hear you've had a visitor. Your sister-in-law?"

"Her sister."

"Where was she going?"

"I think she was coming back – but I don't know where from."

"Where's she stationed now?"

"On the south coast somewhere. She was a bit vague; we mostly talked about old friends. She wasn't here for long."

* * *

Nancy Walker to John Walker

_Peggy said she was looking rather overworked and seemed pretty subdued, but perked up a bit when she'd had something to eat. It does seem a bit hard on her not to let her "do her bit" when Roger is. Don't worry – I'm not about to start saying (or writing) so to your mother – even I'm not that rash. Titty is pretty sensible, you know. (By ordinary standards – you and Susan are special cases, love.)_

* * *

"You could come and live with me you know. For as long as I'm still here anyway."

She shook her head. "I'd… I don't think I should."

"Stay tomorrow night anyway – you're not going to start blowing hot and cold and play games, or start holding out for some kind of ring, or any of that are you?"

"None of that." Titty said fiercely.

"Good girl. I always said it would last as long as it lasted, didn't I?"

"Yes." said Titty, which made a liar out of her too. Relief swamped the guilt, for a few minutes, at least.

* * *

It looked a lot better now. The little room under the thatch would be sweltering as summer wore on and freezing in winter. Things were now moving so fast that it didn't seem worth worrying about winter, yet. Perhaps the thatch would be a better insulator than slate. Dick supposed he would find out. Mother had sent him a small black painted tin trunk in which they kept the food and crockery when they weren't using them.

"We either have mice – or we're going to have them." Dick pointed out.

"A padlock?" Hardy protested. "How big are these mice going to be? How _clever_ are they going to be?"

"We don't have to use the padlock. Just remember to close the lid."

One morning, a yell of outrage came from the downstairs bedroom.

"What's wrong with "_Oy, get up!" _as usual?" Dick clambered sleepily down the ladder.

"The mice have nibbled my clothes."

"I'm sure it's meant to be good luck or something. Or maybe bad luck."

"Well of course it's bad luck. Look, they've nibbled the collar."

"They probably like the starch. If you hung the clothes up on those hooks I put up, this wouldn't happen."

"Callum, do you have a really irritating, know –it-all older sister, by some chance."

"No – she's quite reasonable really."

"Oh get lost, Callum."

"Callum?"

"Yes?"

"What makes you so sure that they're mice not rats?"

"Small droppings – and very small nibble-holes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Does it matter?"

"I'm not that keen on rats."

* * *

"Miss Walker."

The landlady shuffled out of her room on the ground floor with a surprising speed for someone who moved so seldom. Of course, it wasn't that there was necessarily anything wrong with her legs – nothing that Titty could see anyway. It was just that she was so seldom seen - let alone seen to move.

"Miss Walker, I'm sorry to have to say this, and you've been nice and quiet and no trouble, but I really can't go on taking so little for that room, what with things being what they are and prices going up."

Titty had not thought the rent especially low, although it had not been too high for her to pay either. The sum the landlady named now would leave her too little to buy food for the week, let alone any margin for saving, baths or the occasional train fare to Plymouth.

"I'll have a think about it." She said rather weakly.

"Well, it's a fortnight's notice if you do decide to leave – and a fortnight Saturday 'til I have to raise the rent too, so don't think too long. I'm very accommodating, you know, and I don't mind you bringing your gentlemen back here as long as they're respectful and quiet."

"I'll let you know on Saturday – or before." said Titty.

"You do that, dearie."

She had promised herself that she would not go running back home. Loyalty to Guy – and she owed him that - demanded that she stick it out, quite as much as her pride. She would simply have to start the search for digs again. They were becoming harder to find locally. Titty was not exactly sure why.

Lying awake in bed, thinking about who to ask and where to look, she found she was listening to the stealthy creak on the stairs, a short muffled laugh that was not Rita but decidedly more masculine sounding. A long while latter there was a jingle that sounded like change in a trouser pocket and the creak on the stairs again, going down this time. Titty had been wondering how Rita's waitressing job, which even with tips probably paid no better than her own would allow her to find the increased rent.

She had to find somewhere else.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

On Saturday, Titty packed up her two suitcases and Guy came to help her carry them to the bungalow. Her landlady seemed, for some reason Titty could not fathom, to be especially eager to impress Guy with her pleasantness and helpfulness. Titty thought Guy seemed rather embarrassed by this. It was not surprising really, in the circumstances.

"I must pay my share of the rent." Titty had insisted.

"You really are delightful, Tia." Guy had replied. Why did it make her feel uncomfortable? He told her the amount with some evident reluctance.

"I've never taken your photograph have I?" Guy remarked on Monday. "We shall have to do something about that. Not tonight though. You look tired. They work you too hard at that place. We shall have to do something about that too."

"I don't mind hard work – I like it in fact." Titty replied.

He laughed at that. She didn't see why he should. She welcomed the hard work, truly. Partly, that was because it gave her a better chance of sleeping if she was physically and mentally exhausted. Anything seemed better that lying awake next to Guy, contemplating the enormity of the mistake she had made, and wondering how she could possibly extricate herself without causing terrible hurt to someone who had already been hurt and betrayed so badly. Partly, hard work somehow reminded her that she was still Titty Walker, able seaman of _Swallow, _who could sail, pitch camp, lead the younger ones on expeditions and stand watch on the _Sea Bear._

He did take a couple of photographs of her on Tuesday. Two were carefully posed. The third was of her smile when he said "That's it – you can move now."

"The film goes off you know – and it won't be long now, I think, before I'm called up."

On Wednesday, they told her at the studio that she would be getting a new assistant. "She starts on Monday. She's called Lizzie."

On Thursday, Guy took another photograph of Titty. She was getting undressed. She was furious.

"Oh, come on. Don't be a hypocrite. It's only for me. They've extended conscription to 36. It won't be long now. I may as well use up the film on something pretty. Don't you care about me going?"

"I know. And of course I care, but it doesn't feel right."

"More wrong than living with me? Or don't you trust me, Tia? I've trusted you. Let you into my home. Taken care of you. How do I know that you won't be off with someone else the minute I am conscripted? How do I know that you won't be _entertaining_ someone here the minute I'm off to France or wherever?"

"Of course I won't be "off with someone else" – as you put it, let alone even think of….. And I can't pay the rent by myself – so I won't be here." Titty felt furious that he could think such a thing of her.

True, here she was, living with a man to whom she was not married, nor even engaged. True, she had allowed herself to be persuaded, cajoled and caressed into something she had never intend, with someone she was not even in love with. But after all, he was the one who had done the cajoling, the persuading, had become despondent when she refused, had assured her that it meant so much to him. Surely he was the one person who _shouldn't_ think less of her on that account.

"I really was doing rather well with the photography. I shan't get paid as much in the army. I thought perhaps you'd want to stay here and keep an eye on things, if I paid half the rent." he said.

He meant it no doubt as a peace offering. She could not possibly accept the offering. She should, perhaps, accept the peace, rather than take offence at the implications of his offer.

"I can't live in a place if you're paying for it. Not if you aren't living in it too. But it's kind of you to offer."

He laughed. "Well, if you won't let me do that for you, how about another photograph or two? You do trust me don't you? Thinking you didn't would hurt more than just about anything else would. Here, why don't you put these pretty things on?"

And he reached into her suitcase, found the best silk stockings without taking his eyes away from her own, and handed them to her.

On Friday, she did wonder briefly how he had known exactly where the stockings were, in the suitcase she was using in lieu of a chest of drawers. That was earlier in the day, before the other news.

* * *

"It works well enough." Bowen said, as they scrambled up from behind the sandbags, that Saturday morning.

"Is it really enough?" Hardy asked

"It's meant for confined spaces." Dick reminded them.

"It's got to look better close up. People are going to be in a hell of a lot of danger setting these things. It's _got_ to be effective. It's _got_ to be convincing." Dick had never heard Bowen sound like that.

The other two nodded.

"We need someone who is a specialist in making things look like other things." Dick said thoughtfully.

"Dodgy antique dealer?"

"Bit limiting."

"Conjurer?"

France, Belgium, Luxemburg, the Netherlands. It was all so_ fast. _No wonder none of them sounded like themselves. If you didn't imagine these devices being used, think through all the possibilities, you wouldn't do the job properly. If you did….

Dick had not been able to help himself from imagining. At the beginning he had imagined someone like John, like Tom, like Timothy using the things he designed and tested. Now, he found himself imagining the waitress who had served them at the little restaurant in Copenhagen setting a fuse. In his mind's eye, he saw Elspeth casually swapping a real bicycle pump for the version they had laboured over; Bridget letting down a tyre to ensure the pump would be used; Colin scrambling about on a pile of coal in a railway yard. Everyone would see the lumps of coal a light-fingered boy would take away, perhaps thrash him for it. No-one would look to see if he left anything behind.

Try not to think about what will happen when they get caught (and someone will). Try not to think that it might be someone like Titty who gets caught.

"I think I might know just the person." Dick setting off across the lawn.

"Where's he going?"

"Speak to the guv'nor I suppose. You know how Callum is when he decides to do something."

* * *

It was so difficult not to overhear sometimes. The walls of the sets were so flimsy and the sound floated so easily over the top. But then, most of the time you couldn't be sure what was who was being talked about, so it probably didn't matter. Titty was fairly sure that some of the actors and actresses would be chastened to find out how little of the gossip was about them.

"I don't dislike her – just her boyfriend." Maureen's voice.

Probably was about an actress then. The hangers-on _would_ hang around when Maureen was working. Making-up someone who wouldn't keep still because they were having a conversation with someone else must be infuriating. Titty carried on painting a forest in autumn. I was rather soothing.

"Why's that?"

"He was engaged to my best friend's sister. She's quite a bit younger than us – but I liked her a lot."

"Was engaged? Liked her? What happened? Did she die? Do you think he shouldn't get engaged again? But people do. They even get married again sometimes." A young voice. Eager.

"No – she's still alive – although the letters aren't as frequent now. He jilted her."

"But wouldn't that be better than finding out later they didn't like each other?"

"No." Maureen's voice came more firmly. "Not under the circumstances. And she was devastated, poor girl. Didn't see it coming at all. _He _found himself another girl-friend quickly enough. And another after her. Didn't want anything to do with Ros after that. His brother heard about it – oh, not from him probably. They had a parent in Eastbourne. I forget if it was their mother or father – getting on a bit anyway and a bit of a hypochondriac if I'm remembering right. Anyway – they were taken bad and said they were going to die and the brother came back from wherever he was living in Africa and heard about it. He said something should be done to help, and went to visit them. She'd left the nursing home by then and her mother had taken a little cottage on the Downs for a few months for them both, until they decided what to do. The brother went to see Rosalind – took a shine to her and the baby as well. We went back to Africa –Southern Africa- I think after a year with Ros married to him and the baby adopted and give the right surname after all."

"Hard on the one in Eastbourne – not seeing their grandchild now."

"Oh, I think they did die after all. Even hypochondriacs get taken ill sometimes. Anyway, I'll take you to find Tia. She'll be painting scenery round here somewhere. There's no-one round here that works harder, I'll give her that."

Titty had managed to recover her composure before Maureen and her new helper Lizzie did find her. There were two sides to every story. The sister, anxious and ashamed, would naturally want to put things in the best light to her own family. Perhaps it was none of her business.

* * *

She had said nothing that night, nor on the following one.

Perhaps she had not been misled intentionally. He had only said that Rosalind had preferred his brother. It was Titty who had inferred that Rosalind had jilted him.

By Wednesday night, she had decided that she was being more unfair to Guy by not asking. Loyalty surely dictated that she should forget all about it, should trust him implicitly. Yet she found she could not forget. Better then, surely, to ask.

She was chopping an onion when he came into the kitchen, with a letter in his hand. He pushed it abruptly into the pocket of his tweed suit.

"Guy?"

"What?"

"You know quite a bit about me – and I told you about David."

"What there was to tell."

"What there was to tell." she agreed. "Do you mind telling me about more about your past?"

"Ask away. Why? Did you think I might mind?"

"Sometimes people would rather not be reminded of things." Titty felt some kid of warning was due. "You mentioned you'd been engaged. Rosalind, you said she was called."

"What about her?" He still sounded relaxed, confident. Surely he had been concealing nothing. Maureen had probably got the story muddled and at third hand.

"I wondered how you met her – how it started and - well - how it ended."

He leant against the cupboard, arms crossed and one foot crossed over the other.

"Not much to tell. We met at a dance. We got engaged. My brother came home from Southern Rhodesia. They liked each other. She decided she liked him better than me. Better prospects perhaps. She went back out there with him. They've got a kid now, I believe. Jealous are you?"

"No." said Titty.

"Bet you are. Well, I'll answer your next question – yes, she was prettier than you. Maybe not as bright."

The same story as before. Titty still didn't know what to think. Almost absently she reached up for the recipe book – the same cover she recognised from Mother's kitchen. It would probably suggest some ridiculously unobtainable luxury, like cream, for example.

The blow to her face caught her so completely by surprise that her head jerked sideways and hit the corner of the cupboard. She dropped the book.

"You stupid cow. Why do you have to go asking questions? Can't you just leave things be? If you really cared about me, you'd keep your mouth shut."

"I'm sorry." Her voice felt as once shriller and quieter. His hand was gripping the base of her neck, painfully.

"Shut up, you little idiot." He hissed. He bent, picked up the book and left the room.

She had wondered what she should do when the meal was cooked, but when it was time to dish up, Guy came into the kitchen and helped her carry the food though to the living room just as if nothing had happened.

They ate supper. They listened to the wireless. He talked about his day. She said little about hers, but mentioned Lizzie starting work. She wasn't going to mention what she had overheard. Not now.

Getting ready for bed, she touched the side of her face. It felt tender, and she was expecting to see some sort of bruise on her cheekbone and jaw. She couldn't see anything.

Guy had been watching her from the doorway, silently.

"There won't be a bruise, you know." he said. "You're thinking too much about it. If I'd wanted to hurt you, I'd have used my fist, not the heel of my palm. I just couldn't have you being silly. You'd better get into bed."

That answered one question. She had been prepared to sleep on the living room floor. The sofa was a two seater – much too short. Perhaps it would be unwise to argue the point.

"You aren't still being jealous are you, Tia?" he asked in the darkness, one hand slipping under the broad shoulder straps of her summer nightdress.

"I'm not jealous."

"Good."

If she had said that she didn't want to, would it have made any difference to him at all, she wondered. She wanted to believe it would have done.

She couldn't stay, she thought, listening to his slow steady breathing in the dark. She would have to hand her notice in to the studios tomorrow. Find something else. Go somewhere else as soon as possible.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's note: **_Another Sayers refugee, to please Simon C. and, __more importantly, with many thanks to Fergus Mason for encouragement and extremely helpful constructive criticism. _

**Chapter 17**

"Is it because of me, Tia?" Lizzie looked as if she might easily become tearful.

"Is what because of you?"

"You handing your notice in."

Well that was quick, Titty thought. Ninety minutes since she had handed in the letter. She wondered, a bit grimly, what would happen when word of the resignation got back to Guy.

"Not at all." She certainly wasn't going to start explaining things to this fifteen year old. "I've been wanting to do something more directly involved in the war effort for quite a while – I'm the only one of my family not to be – except my little sister. With things as they are" Titty paused. Lizzie nodded.

"It seems even more important now, doesn't it?" Lizzie said. "My friend Doris says she's going to be a Wren. Her mother says she can be. Not yet, of course, but when she's old enough."

"I'm more than old enough." Titty said. "You've made a good start Lizzie, and picked up a great deal in a short time."

* * *

She really couldn't stand the thought of Maureen knowing. She didn't want anyone to know. But the best light and mirror was in make-up. She slipped in there when Maureen was having a break. Guy had been quite right. It still felt tender, but there were no visible marks. There was a slight noise from the door.

"Sorry." she said. "Eyelash. Thank you."

"You aren't the admiring yourself sort." Maureen said.

* * *

"Well, the Royal Mail isn't going to deliver _that_!" said Bowen, looking at the drawing. "Not without someone passing comment."

"It's arriving by rail on Friday night."

They looked at each other. Dick checked the dimensions.

"It'll fit in the lorry, quite easily." he said.

"When on Friday?" Hardy asked.

"Oh…. A little after closing time." The three young men grinned.

"So the lorry takes us in to town." It was too far to walk.

"Parks in the goods yard of the station."

"Well, it's got to be parked somewhere. And some of the streets are quite narrow."

"The whole thing's just an exercise in morale of course."

"Bit of a reward for making an especially good starshell. Something like that." Bowen suggested.

"You won't have reached anything like the starshell mentioning stage."

Bowen nodded. The governor had a point.

"We haven't got the money for it anyway." Bowen said.

"Reasonable excuse."

"No, Hardy, I mean I haven't got the money for it anyway."

"Serve you right. I told you- you were trying too hard to impress the girls."

"That's a point. Are the girls coming too? It would make the whole thing look more natural." Bowen asked.

"That's up to them." There were more than two girls working there now, of course, but all three of them knew which two Bowen meant.

"So it's dark by the time we get back to the lorry."

"And nobody notices what else gets put aboard."

"Eight o'clock on Friday, then. Bowen, you're in charge of the new toy. Smith's driving of course. The unloading happens in daylight. No point in risking accidents."

They nodded.

* * *

"I'm sick of these four walls and you being glum." said Guy. "I'm going out for a drink. You can come if you like."

Titty did like. Anything seemed better than sitting there, wondering what sort of mood he would be in when he came back. She was just waiting now for the right moment - which would probably be Monday night.

* * *

"Dancing. In London. In places we couldn't afford in a million years." Bowen said, gloomily. "Back in the morning."

The three of them watched the end of the train as it pulled out.

"Back to their old lives for an evening." said Dick.

"They're both the deb. sort really." said Bowen rather sadly. "No wonder I was getting nowhere."

"It might help if you could make up your mind which one you were chasing." Hardy said.

"That would take all the fun out of it."

* * *

It was easier than she expected, at first. Guy was hailed by a conservatively dress man while they were still standing at the bar. Guy introduced her briefly as "This is Tia." with no more explanations. He didn't bother to introduce the man to Titty, and she stood quietly while small talk was exchanged.

"Look, Tia" said Guy as they were being served, "why don't you go and find.."

His expression changed – "Vaughan" – he mutter more quietly and not, Titty thought, to her. "Friend of Boyes – he's still convinced the Vane woman did it. He goes on for ever if you argue."

"Guy."

"Ryland."

Again, Titty noticed, Guy introduced Vaughan to the quietly dressed man, but somehow the other introduction got lost in the ordering of another drink. The more conservatively dressed man made a couple of polite comments about the weather. Titty was not quite sure if the other man was called Vaughan Ryland – or Ryland Vaughan . It did not matter, as he certainly had no intention of speaking to her or even acknowledging her presence.

Whichever way round his name was, he seemed determined to let the world hear his opinions. Titty bit her lip and surveyed the floorboards as Vaughan animadverted at length on the flabby prose of all women writers, the general faithlessness of women in general and the pointlessness of expecting any sensible contribution from any female in the current crisis. It appeared in passing from his diatribe that Vaughan was an unappreciated poet and a less than successful reviewer.

Guy seemed bored but unbothered by this invective and even nodded agreement a couple of times. The other man looked a little more uncomfortable and even ventured on a murmured "oh, I say" at one point. Titty thought she bore it pretty well. That was, until Vaughan launched into a particularly vitriolic (and crudely expressed) series of comments on the likely motivations of all the members of the WAAF, the WRNS, the ATS and any nurses attached to the armed forces in anyway. Perhaps she would have kept her peace even then, if Vaughan had not used the phrases "everyone knows" and "don't you agree".

"I don't have to agree, and I do know otherwise." Titty said. "In fact…"

"Who asked you to speak?" Vaughan demanded.

"Well you did – asking if we agreed." Titty said.

"I didn't mean you." Vaughan said.

"Just drop it, Tia."

"And let him walk away and carry on saying everyone agrees with him just because they can't be bothered to argue? No. He's talked a lot of nonsense and maybe he believes it, but if he can't be bothered to listen to the reasons I know he's not right…." Titty said

"Tia, shush now. I can't be bothered with an argument."

"I don't care what he calls me, but I'm not going to let him call my sister and.."

"Silly little show-off. Why can't you…"

"I say, let's not have a scene." The conservatively dressed man spoke quietly enough, but Vaughan did not persist.

"Stupid …" Vaughan stalked of through the backdoor, leaving his quarter full glass on the bar.

"I said, Tia, hold your tongue." She felt Guy's hand heavy on the back of her neck. He spoke very close to her ear. "You have to learn to do as you're told. Now go and find a table and.."

Then, behind her she heard a blessedly familiar, totally unexpected voice say very quietly, "Let go of her. You can see it bothers her."

Even then, Titty noticed that Guy kept his own voice low.

"Mind your own business. What is she to you?"

"Everything." said Dick.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

_With thanks to Fergus Mason for pointing out the wood when I couldn't see it for the trees._

"And he didn't trip over his feet or her feet or anything. Just walked off with her, calm as you like." Bowen marvelled quietly as the door swung shut behind Callum and the unknown girl. "Just like a film. I'm not sure anyone else even noticed."

The poet blustered his way back in and looked around.

"Do you think.." Hardy suggested

"The last thing we need is to get all of us locked away cooling our heels tonight for breach of the peace." said Bowen firmly. "Callum always seems to know what he's doing – for all his absent professor ways."

"You haven't seen him try to boil eggs." muttered Hardy.

"No need anyway. The poet's getting short shrift from tweed-suit and can't quite make up his mind to go after Callum and the girl by himself." It was true enough. After a bit of blustering and hesitation, the poet picked up his drink again.

"They want him to push off though."

Bowen leant back; stretched his legs a little; took a casual glance. A "what are _you_ looking at then?" could become inconvenient this evening.

"I do believe you're right." he said and took another sip. He didn't think he'd ever made a pint last so long. Mind you, the last time he'd been so skint he'd been too young to drink. Officially.

"Hello. He's finally got the hint." said Hardy, after a pause. The poet had finished his drink and, receiving no encouragement to stay, wandered off.

"It's going to be awkward with only two of us and Smith" Bowen said quietly.

"Might not be just the two of us." said Hardy.

"We'll see."

There was another long pause.

"Do you think that was the paragon? She knew him. Must have done to go off with Callum that calmly." Bowen asked, about five minutes later.

"Why didn't she come and speak to Callum if she was?" asked Hardy.

"Didn't see him?" Bowen suggested. "She was looking down a lot of the time. I didn't notice them until the poet started sounding off, and we're pretty well tucked away in this corner."

"So why didn't he see her?"

"He did. I saw. He noticed when she came in. Just didn't say anything."

"Do you think Tweedsuit was her boyfriend?" Hardy murmured a while later.

Bowen shrugged. "Probably not. Maybe he was just a friend or something. It isn't as if he's making a fuss or anything."

Tweed-suit and the quietly dressed man continued in conversation for another half hour before the quietly dressed man took his inconspicuous departure. Tweed-suit had another drink and took his own departure. Bowen and Hardy hung on until time was called and slipped away themselves.

* * *

Like many towns, this one had developed in layers like an onion. Being a smallish town, each layer was thin. A few hundred yards and turning one corner took them from Victorian redbrick to a small but elegant Georgian terrace. The gate to the second area was unlocked and Dick led Titty down the stairs and into the corner of the area nearest the pavement and next to the narrow stone steps.

"Let's see if we're being followed. People never do look down – or up." Dick said.

"Sounds like something Nancy would say."

"She did. One summer. I can't remember which."

"Thank you for rescuing me."

"I wasn't entirely sure you would feel as if it was a rescue – or what you wanted. That's why I didn't come and say anything to you earlier."

"I wanted it more than anything. You were there all along?"

"Yes – when you came in. Only, I noticed – I thought he might be your boyfriend – and – I …I really couldn't bear to go over and be introduced as if it was all just…." Dick found himself floundering to a halt. He tried again. "The thing is … well you must have realised… from the card if nothing else…. only course perhaps that made it more awkward if you had already…"

"What card?" Titty asked.

"I sent you a card..with a poem.. in semaphore." The sheer euphoria of seeing her, hearing her voice, touching her hand was subsiding now. "in February."

"I never got it." Titty said, her voice so soft and gentle he could only just catch what she said. Perhaps it was just as well. They could hear footsteps – none-too-regular footsteps –and a male voice talking to himself.

It was dusk now but not yet fully dark and people did, after all carry torches and were obliged to point them downwards. Titty's yellow cotton frock and white face would catch the light. Luckily her cardigan was dark. He pulled them both further into the corner, wrapped his arms around Titty and pulled her head gently onto his shoulder, burying his own face in her soft hair. He didn't have to explain. Titty tucked her own hands under his sports jacket, hiding their whiteness.

There was a cough, a pause in the footsteps and the railings above their head were shaken in torrent of rage, blasphemy, high-flown language and foul words. Undoubtedly, it was the misogynistic poet. Undoubtedly, it was far from his first drink of the evening. Titty seemed to be holding her breath. Dick fought the temptation to look up.

The footsteps continued, and the invective faded gradually along the street. Moving too soon would be a mistake. Besides, he wanted to stay here as long as possible. Dick wanted to stay here with his arms around Titty, her body pressed closely to his, her arms holding him tightly. He could even feel her slow careful exhalation, her eyelashes damp against his neck when she blinked. He wanted to hold her, in case it was the last time he could hold her like this. Perhaps, when they could speak safely again, she would tell him that she didn't feel more than friendship for him, or perhaps worse, that any affection she felt was entirely sisterly in nature.

Even without having read the poem, she must surely be aware now that his feelings for her went far beyond the friendly or brotherly. Reluctantly, he gradually released Titty. Was is just wishful thinking or was she as reluctant to let go of him as he was of her?

"Maybe I should have said more when we were in there." Dick said. He would have liked to punch the revolting poet as hard as he could, too. He could not very well say so to Titty. Tonight, of all nights, he should not be courting trouble. Besides, the idiot was either a lot drunker than he had seemed at first, or somewhat unhinged. It could be both of course.

"I'm glad you didn't." she said.

"You deserve better."

"I deserve worse."

"Oh sweetheart, you're talking nonsense. It's the first time I _have_ heard you talk nonsense. Let me take you home. Where do you live?"

"With him. Guy Mortimer, I mean, not Vaughan."

There was a pause.

"Do you want to?" Dick asked, carefully.

"No. Not now. I'm not sure I did then, only there seemed to be no alternative and nothing seemed to matter, and by that time it was already…" she swallowed.

"You don't have to. We can go and collect your things – well, what we can carry – now. Have you got a key?"

She nodded. He was making it so simple. It really couldn't be.

"I've got my identity card and ration book and my post office book in my bag, just in case."

He squeezed her shoulders. "What else is most important? Hardest to replace. We might not have much time. In fact, tell me as we go. Is it walking distance? Is it far enough that getting a taxi there is worth the time it would take to find one?"

"Walking would be best. It would be hardest to get a new bicycle. That's chained to a drain-pipe in the yard at the back. It's the back door key I have. There's only a suitcase full of my things, and another little suitcase. But the other thing is;" Titty swallowed again, "there's a photograph."

"A photograph?"

"Of me."

"Why does it worry you?" Dick's arm, round her waist now, tightened reassuringly.

"I'm – not wearing that much in it." It sounded just as bad said quickly, after all. Why was she telling Dick, of all people this? She had thought she would mind him knowing even more than her family finding out.

"Less than bathers?"

"Quite a lot less."

"Was he blackmailing you with it?" She felt almost light-headed with relief at Dick's response. She had been an absolute idiot. Of course Dick would see the point at once. Of course he would not let her see it if he was shocked.

"Not exactly, I mean, he hasn't asked for money, but he did make some remarks about how embarrassing it would be for my family. And then he told me not to worry, because he'd never do anything with it. But I'm not quite sure. I suppose if it comes to it, I'll have to tell him to publish and be damned. Wasn't that Wellington?" Titty's voice wavered a bit as she tried for a little laugh.

"Yes, I think so. It might not come to that. Do you know where he keeps it?"

"I think I know where the print might be, but he has the negative too. He's a photographer. I mean it's his job. He does his own developing."

"Oh." That was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack. It meant, too, that the negative was not necessarily restricted to what a reputable chemist would develop and print. The most important thing was not to let Titty get caught inside the house. He was reasonably confident that they could make their escape – perhaps even without bruises, on her at least – and the worst view that law was realistically like to take, providing they only touched Titty's own possessions, was that they – or he at least- had been trespassing. Looking at Titty's face you might think she was only slightly worried, if you didn't know her. Dick did know her and could feel the tension in her. He could guess what the emotional cost of a confrontation would be.

"Let's make sure of the rest of your things now. If we can't find it quickly, we shouldn't hang about."

* * *

"Unlock the bicycle first. If we're caught, hop on and ride as quickly as you can to the station – well, it's the goods yard you want, really. Wait by the lorry. Two men, Bowen and Hardy will turn up. They were in the pub with me, but I don't know if you'd recognise them again. Tell them what happened. There'll be a man called Smith as well – but I think he'd rather not be involved."

Titty nodded, realised that Dick probably couldn't see in the dark and said "Yes."

"What's the house like? Where will things be?"

Titty paused a second.

"It's a bungalow – so we haven't got to worry about getting trapped upstairs. I've got the backdoor key – it's really the side-door. We left the house by it, so it won't be bolted from the inside. The back door goes straight in to the kitchen. It's really just a cooker on one side and a sink and a couple of cupboards on the other. So it's straight through the kitchen to the door into the living room. At the back of the house there are two bedrooms. The one on the right is his. My suitcases are in there – pushed under the bed on the side furthest from the door. The bathroom is between the kitchen and his bedroom. There's only my toothbrush in there. The other bedroom is the one he uses as a darkroom. There's a bolt on the inside, so no-one can come in at the wrong moment, but I don't think he locks it from the outside."

_His bedroom_, Dick noted, not _our_ bedroom. "What about windows?"

"They have catches, but not locks. The dark room is boarded over. The ones in the bedroom and living-room we could climb out of. The ones in the kitchen and bathroom are too small."

"I'm not even going to risk the darkroom then."

Titty nodded.

"Look here." Dick said. "Why don't you let me do it? You've explained it so well – and it's going to be pretty obvious which clothes are whose and so on. You can keep an eye from a distance and get away quickly on the bike if you need to."

Riding a bicycle at speed in the blackout would have its own risks. Dick tried not to think about them too much.

"The suitcases are pretty much packed," Titty said. "But if you are caught inside, it will look far more like burglary if I'm not with you. This isn't Beckfoot, and all the police aren't like Sammy."

Dick had to concede that point – but as they approached the bungalow, he whispered urgently, "Look, he'll know we've been there. It isn't like Beckfoot – the main thing now is to get in and out as quickly as possible."

It went as smoothly as they could possibly hope for. Titty hustled hair-brush, nightdress and a couple of other oddments into the larger suitcase, while Dick retrieved her toothbrush from the bathroom and made a hasty search of the bathroom cabinet, chest of drawers and the drawer of the bedside table. He found the print of Titty's photograph in the latter. He was hoping to find a few other things as well. They weren't there.

In less than five minutes, they were both on their way to the goods yard.

* * *

Bicycle gone. Suitcases gone. A ten shilling note left on the table – with a note in Tia's handwriting.

_Towards the electricity bill._

Far more than she had actually used, of course. Funny kid. She had already paid for more than her share of the food. Guy checked a few things. She probably hadn't touched anything in the kitchen, although she didn't have the front door key, so she must have been through it. The kitchen was pretty draughty – tiny fragments could so easily get moved anyway. The darkroom was untouched and so were the bookshelves in the living room. She had found the photograph in the drawer of the bedside table, but that didn't matter. He still had the negative.

She would join the WRNS of course. You could see how badly she wanted too. He would wait a little and then – well it might be useful, or it might not. He had the addresses. . He'd give it a few months and then write. The little sister in the Lake District would forward a letter unopened no doubt. It was obvious that Tia came from a family with the same ridiculous morality and sense of honour as she did herself. She hadn't touched any of the money he had tucked away. That would simply make things a little easier. Of course, perhaps in a few months' time, it wouldn't matter anyway.

There are all sorts of ways of winning.

_Note: to non-UK readers on Georgian terraces. The ones described here would have been the upper-middle/upper class homes of the time (late 18__th__ century). The ground floor (I believe it would be called first floor in the US – I'm not sure about elsewhere.) to these particular one, and many like them, was reached by a short flight of stone steps from the pavement and would therefore be somewhat above ground level. The main entrance and principal rooms would be here. Some principal rooms would also be on the floor above. The kitchen would often have been semi-basement and have a window and door that looked out into a paved yard below the street level. This yard was known as the "area". _

_The railings: I think we have to assume that either they had not yet been removed for the scrap or that the drop to the "area" was so step that removal was deemed to dangerous to the public, in the blackout especially._


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

To say that Bowen was annoyed was to seriously understate the case.

"She's to go in the back." Bowen said eventually. "It's still all wrong – but I suppose it minimises the damage. And she's not to look out. And look here, Hardy, that bicycle is to stay in your bedroom."

Bowen had spoken to Smith as well, although neither Dick nor Titty could hear what he said. After a while Dick thought he had worked it out. You couldn't be sure in the dark of course, but he rather thought Smith had been told to take a rather circuitous route. It certainly seemed to be a longer journey back, sitting in silence in the back of the lorry, with Bowen glaring at them both.

Eventually, the three of them were decanted at the side of the road.

"Look, Miss Walker, don't take it personally. And I'm sorry it was uncomfortable." Bowen said.

"I understand. And I'm sorry to cause so much trouble." Titty's voice was quiet and strained.

The lorry rumbled off up the lane. Titty dropped the handle bars of the bicycle and rushed to the side of the lane. Hardy handed Dick the small suitcase and picked up the handlebars of the bicycle as the sounds of Titty being sick reached them clearly in the still air.

"I'm sorry." Her voice came eventually from the darkness nearby.

"That's alright."

"It was pretty bumpy."

* * *

The second-hand sofa was much too short to sleep on and anyway had such an alarming slope towards the front that it was nearly useless for sitting purposes, let alone for lying on. Dick rather suspected that the sofa had been the original home of the mouse. He (and Dick hoped it was a he) had certainly made himself known soon after the sofa had arrived. Dick pulled the cushions onto the floor and wriggle into his sleeping bag with little expectation of sleep. Titty had looked so drained and white when they had arrived back at the cottage that he had felt it would be cruel to ask too many questions. The one he had asked her, with her sitting on the side of the freshly made up bed had distressed her enough.

"I didn't write after that because I thought you loved Peggy – and I couldn't possibly let anyone know I minded. And I didn't know you were so near of course. But even if I had.. And then Peggy came and told me – well never mind, I said I wouldn't tell – but by that time - it seemed too late – and, and it didn't seem … I couldn't expect anyone…to want…to..to…"

The sobs that wracked her body and made her gulp and gasp for breath sounded painful. All he could really do was hold her and stroke her hair and murmur over and over again that it was alright, that everything could be sorted out, that she was quite safe, that he would never let anything hurt her.

It had seemed an age until the sobs had subsided to the occasional shuddering hiccup and he felt he could leave her for long enough to fetch a mug of water for her, while she got undressed. When he climbed up the ladder again, she was already in bed. She had left her clothes folded, perhaps not a neatly as Susan would have approved, on top of her suitcase. In the faint, flickering candlelight, she had not seen the hooks on the beams. Dick hung up her frock and cardigan to keep them from Mickey's attentions.

"Try not to worry about it." He whispered.

"Thank you so much." She whispered back, "I don't know what.."

"Shh, try to sleep now, sweetheart."

He really needed to think about a number of things before he attempted to sleep himself. That photograph. Would Guy Mortimer come looking for Titty? Would he find her if he did? If he cared about her at all, surely he would not just let her walk out of his life like that? And how could he not care about her? The name Ryland Vaughan rang a bell, but Dick couldn't remember why.

Titty had been living with this Mortimer for a few weeks. Dick didn't know how long they had been lovers for before that. He had known the Walkers for about ten years now, but still had no idea if their parents had had the same sort of awkward, excruciatingly embarrassing, but very informative conversations with them that his father had had with him and, he presumed, that his mother had had with Dot.

Absence of evidence was by no means evidence of absence. Perhaps it was alright. And some people wanted children and couldn't have them of course, so it didn't automatically follow….

But she had been sick. It might have just been the lorry of course. She had been sea-sick once that he knew of, that time in the Irish Sea. But suppose it wasn't that…

Perhaps there was no point now trying to guess. Only, however awkward it was, however much he didn't want to think about Titty and Mortimer together – Titty and anybody together - there would have to be some sort of conversation about it in the morning.

Why on earth had Titty thought for one moment that he cared for Peggy? He like and admired both Amazons, but sometimes regarded them privately as a force of nature that was fortunately usually on his side. You might as well contemplate cuddling a thunderstorm. The dawn chorus had already begun when he wondered what Peggy had told Titty. Maybe Mrs Dixon was right – Timothy?

Good luck to them. Dick slept.

* * *

He had hardly been asleep five minutes, it seemed, when Hardy plonked a mug of tea down in front of his nose.

"What's the time?"

"Time for you to be explaining things to the boss – before he asks you for an explanation. I'll stay here until you get back."

Dick nodded. "Thanks - I don't think that bounder will have the faintest clue where she is, but I'll still feel happier."

"I'm not doing it for you – I just don't want to explain to the old man why some girl he knows nothing about is running loose so close. We're a lot closer than the vicarage."

Dick nodded. Hardy padded back to his room. There had been no end of a fuss about the incident with the vicar, the deckchair and the newspaper. Although Dick and Hardy had not been involved themselves, they had heard about it from Bowen, who had heard about it from one of the girls, who had taken the telephone call from the perplexed clergyman. Actually, Dick was pretty sure that their boss knew quite a bit about Titty by now, but he wasn't about to say so. Hardy would be delighted at the chance of a lie-in anyway.

* * *

He had promised to say nothing yet to Titty, but it seemed probably that Mrs Robertson would have a new lodger by the end of the week.

Dick returned to the cottage to find Titty was preparing some sort of vegetable stew and Hardy was washing up two porridge bowls.

"I saved some for you." Titty said, "but it's been kept warm a bit long."

"It'll do." said Dick. He'd not eaten since yesterday and it was getting on for eleven o'clock. "You're summoned, by the way." He added to Hardy.

"Thought I might be." Hardy rolled down his sleeves, fetched his jacket and set off up the hill.

There was so much to say. Dick didn't want to start. It seemed so right, so perfect, sitting next to Titty at the little deal kitchen table, with the sunlight streaming through the open door and the sounds of yet another neighbourly dispute between the sparrows and the house martins filtering down from the attic. It would be so easy to say the wrong thing, to bring it all crashing down into misery and confusion again.

"Let's sit outside." Dick said, when the porridge was eaten and the vegetable stew was beginning to cook.

It wasn't so much a bench as a plank of wood on two logs. It allowed two people to sit in the sun next to each other with their backs to the cottage of the sparrows was foraging busily a few yards from their feet.

After some minutes, Titty said, "I was surprised to see the sparrows and the house martins nesting so close together."

"I think the sparrows started first. They were here when we arrived, busily altering the house martins nest, although I don't think they had actually laid any eggs. The house martins came back, turfed them out and reclaimed the nest. They had to put right the alterations made by the sparrows of course."

"So the house martins got their home back? I'm glad."

"Yes. But with noisy new neighbours. I don't think they're really competing that much for food. Look here, Titty, we could try and get that negative back, and any prints."

The pinched look came back, and she nodded. "Yes, although I don't think he would actually hand them over."

Dick smiled, a little grimly. "I'm sure he wouldn't. I was thinking about a little burglary. Would during the day be best?"

Titty smiled with relief but shook her head. "No – lots of people come to have their portraits taken during the day. He works at home. But he did say something about going up to London on Monday night – that he would be away all night. I don't know where it's hidden though. That was when I was going to go. I packed most of my things early, so it didn't look as though I was packing just before he was going away. It wasn't as though I had unpacked everything anyway."

"You were going to go? Go where?"

Titty sighed. "I didn't really know myself – but I couldn't stay. I couldn't face explaining it all to Mother though, either. I couldn't expect Mrs Blackett to not tell Mother, either. I thought I'd get a train somewhere first, so that I was _away _and then decide what to do. I won't get a reference of course – I handed in my notice at the studio – but it had to be a month."

"Look here, I wouldn't worry too much about the reference – or the job. There must be loads of girls with no references because their families never expected them to have a job in the normal way. Quite a few chaps at school had sisters who just did charity work and tennis parties and things. Father will give you a character one if you need it anyway. People get impressed by professors."

She had been planning to leave Mortimer anyway? The sunshine had just got a little brighter.

"Night will be a lot easier in many ways." Dick said. He had after all committed burglary successfully at Beckfoot. An empty house ought to be a piece of cake, in comparison with evading the Great-Aunt.

"It's going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack." Titty still sounded anxious. "And he'll know it's us when it's gone."

"He's hardly going to go to the police and say _I've taken a photograph for blackmail purposes of a very lightly clad young lady and she's taken it back. Please investigate."_

Titty nodded. The situation was still dreadful, and worse still, was her fault, but she couldn't help smiling a little at the _very lightly clad_ bit.

Dick was thinking.

"Was there anywhere that he seemed to mind you seeing?"

Titty shook her head. "Not really. He bolted the dark room door when he was developing or printing." Dick nodded. There was nothing really odd in that. "But he never locked the door when he wasn't in there. Not that I knew of, anyway."

"It might only be something small. Something he didn't want you to touch, or a drawer he didn't want you to open."

Titty shook her head again. "Nothing that I can remember."

"A book he didn't want you to touch? Something he tried to distract you from?"

"No .. except.."

"Yes? Even if you think it's nothing? Any clue could make it easier."

"You… you won't like it and I'm afraid you'll think that I'm….stupid and weak and deserve to be in this mess and be angry…. And.. you've got every right to blame me and…."

By the way she pressed her lips together, Dick could tell she was fighting for self-control.

"Sweetheart …" he began. He didn't really know what to say. Perhaps it was just as well. It was as if she had nerved herself up to tell him something and had to do so immediately. He listened horrified while she spoke with her eyes fixed on the foraging sparrow. She told him about the cookery book and the blow, about Maureen and the story about Rosalind.

"I don't suppose you can possibly like me or r..res.."

"Shhh. It's alright sweetheart… I won't let anything happen to you… of course it's going to be alright….. you're safe now."

"But you _are_ angry and.."

"Not with you..with him. And.. I think I'm glad you didn't fight back or anything like that. I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt. Anyway, perhaps the cookery book would be worth a look. And as for mistakes – I should have said something earlier. Only – at the wedding – dancing with that friend of John's, and then Roger mentioned that John seemed to think that you'd be pretty cut up about _Exmouth _and he thought it was because…. I should have had the nerve, then but... It seemed so rotten to say something then, as if... And I couldn't think that you would really… I mean – I know just lurking around behind sandbags fiddling with explosives isn't like serving on a ship or ….." He gesticulated in the vague direction of France. He had to stop flannelling and make sure he said the next bit right. A deep breath didn't seem to help much.

"Dick," she said. "I'm already more glad to see you and more grateful to you than I could possibly say."

"I'm glad," he said, "because I don't want you to think that I'm saying the next thing that I am going to say because I _have_ to. I _want_ to say it – but I don't want to say it _now_."

She was looking totally mystified.

"I was wondering – with you being sick last night, and, I don't know how long you and Mortimer were.." He couldn't bring himself to say the word _lovers. _Surely that word should never apply to something that could make Titty so unhappy. "It's just – if you were pregnant – look, I would have waited months before asking you – but if you wanted to – we could get married pretty quickly. We wouldn't have to tell anyone else if you didn't want to. I mean about Mortimer. Obviously, we'd tell them we were married."

Her eyes had the unfocused look of someone doing mental arithmetic.

"I suppose we shall know in a few days." Titty said. "I rather hoped the thought hadn't occurred to you."

"The thought of being married to you occurs to me rather frequently."

"That wasn't quite what I meant." She took his hand and squeezed it gently as she continued. "It would be a horrible way to start a marriage – you never knowing for sure if I said yes because I really loved you – or just to save myself and a baby from shame." she said. "And I don't think I could say yes under those circumstances. It just wouldn't be fair. But I would be very, very, sad indeed if this was the last time you asked me the same question."

It took a second or two for his mind to truly grasp what she was saying.

"Gosh." he said. "Yes, of course. Whenever you like."

And they sat there, with both of her hands clasping both of his, unable to tear their eyes away from each other and unable to stop smiling.


End file.
